by Ciara Shayee
It was a difficult task to handle on top of everything else vying for space in their minds, so tears were the only thing they could manage for the moment.
When she regained a handle on her emotions, Grace inhaled a shaky breath, pulling back to look at her dad's face. Still, after hours of being able to see him, touch him, smell his familiar aftershave, she couldn't believe it was really him. All those years of starting to believe their families must have given up were hard to push away, to forget. Years of Christmases, birthdays, and other holidays were fighting against his snarled words and beliefs both she and Indie had held to their chest since it had become obvious they were going to have to get themselves free. It would take a long time for the girls to regain their trust in everyone, to trust that their families had never given up; that they never would have.
"Dad…" Grace breathed. Peter met her gaze and a handsome grin overtook his face, his five o'clock shadowed jaw giving away the fact that he'd gone more than a few days without shaving.
"You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that, honey."
"It feels good to say it," she whispered in reply, resting her head against his shoulder while inhaling a lungful of the aftershave he'd always used. It was calming, gentle, and familiar.
Of course, he didn't know that it had been over twelve years since either of them had uttered the word 'Dad’. It was a coping mechanism, something to keep them from falling apart. Something to keep their two lives separate.
As she settled down to listen to the quiet conversations going on around her, Grace watched Reagan’s hand draw soothing circles on Indie’s shoulder, allowing her eyes to drift shut. She kept everything out except the soft voices nearby and the sound of her dad's heartbeat at her ear. Knowing this was the beginning of the end, Grace felt more happiness than she had in a long time.
However, nobody could have anticipated the way Indie’s mind would soon revolt against her.
~ oOo ~
The next three days passed in a mess of tears, bone-crushing hugs, and men treading on eggshells.
For Indie, the shock of being rescued wore off on the first night. It left behind debilitating panic attacks, nightmares, and a fear of many innocent noises.
Grace did better. She managed to keep her calm by reminding herself often of her dad’s, Reagan’s, and Laker’s presence. Of course, every time she saw Indie lose her composure, it gutted her.
Marley was petrified of her mommy's nightmares and took to refusing to sleep unless Laker was holding her. At first, it was assumed she’d stay in the room and snuggle with Grace, instead, but it quickly became clear that it wasn’t going to work—Indie’s screams were loud enough to wake the dead and left Marley terrified. Instead, with Indie’s permission, she began sleeping on a loveseat the agents moved into Laker’s room, though most nights he woke in the morning to find her burrowed down by his feet at the foot of the bed, beneath the duvet.
It was agonising to watch Indie break down simply from hearing too-loud footsteps on the stairs, or at the sight of a man moving too quickly in the corner of her always-alert gaze, and know there wasn't a thing they could do to make it better.
Neither Indie or Grace could bring themselves to taint this perfect reunion by talking about the things they'd experienced in the past twelve years.
After the first day of closeness, touch became unbearable for Indie as flashbacks of rough hands grabbing at her repeatedly took over, haunting the little rest she did get while adding a layer of exhausted panic to her threadbare nerves.
At night, the agents stationed in and around the house struggled to remain stoic in the shadows as Indie’s terrified screams echoed throughout the house. Grace, who refused to stay in any room other than the one she shared with Indie, got to her feet each night to let Reagan in, hopelessly aware of her uselessness in the face of her friend’s terrifying night terrors. For a girl who'd spent years leaning on her for support, it was pure torture seeing Indie broken; seeing her crumble under the weight of her demons while nobody could do anything but hope the next night would be different.
That the next night would be the one she managed more than an hour of sleep.
That the next night Indie would be able to rest without phantom, restraining hands pushing her to the brink.
As the twenty-fourth, fifth, and sixth of April passed, Riley realised she needed more help than they could give her. A phone call was made, a plane ticket was booked, and on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh, an FBI psychologist, a specialist in treating victims of abduction, would arrive.
Now all he had to do was convince Indie she should talk to her.
~ oOo ~
The night before the psychologist was due to arrive, the nightly routine altered ever-so-slightly.
Indie’s nightmares didn't wake the entire house followed by her blood-curdling screams. No, instead, she managed to wake herself before the true agony began, silently calming her breaths until they were quiet enough for her to leave the room and pad down the stairs on socked feet.
Hugging slender arms around her waist, Indie stared forlornly out of the front window, blue-green eyes glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the drapes. There were only seven other occupied houses on the street, though many other sat empty, so a visual scan of the driveways and surrounding pavements yielded little information that she didn't already know—they were in the middle of nowhere.
In the swath of navy sky dotted with pinprick silver dots, Indie could see two constellations, the small amount she remembered from Archie's astrology phase having stuck with her for all this time.
"Arch…" Her brother's name sent a pang of longing through Indie’s weak body. His face was a poorly constructed guess at what he'd look like now. She’d hoped her dad would have pictures of him on his phone, but all he had were blurry selfies taken by Carl-Roman and pictures of construction sites. It had been twelve years, his teenage years long-gone and in their place, fatherhood. She still couldn't imagine her goofy, fun-loving, immature-at-times big brother as a dad to two little boys.
But then, Reagan had admitted Archie was struggling with the reality that she was a mother. So she supposed they all had things to adjust to.
It seemed like a whole other world, thinking about her brother back home, one in which she had no idea how to act, think, even be. Life hadn't been normal for such a long time that Indie was having trouble adjusting to being an ordinary twenty-one-year-old. It was something she'd never been, something she hadn't seen since her time with Archie and his girlfriends, so it was hard to reconcile herself and Grace with the feisty, playful, confident girls of her memories. Hard to reconcile their easy happiness with the weariness she felt dragging her body down with every breath.
Pulling her from melancholy clutches, Indie’s highly-tuned hearing picked up the clinking of a glass on the metal tap in the tiny kitchen at the back of the house. It was closely followed by the squeak of the tank as the tap was turned off, then the sound of bare feet on the linoleum. The slow, heavy gait alerted her to who it was before they even made it to the doorway. She spun cautiously, the tiniest of smiles tugging her lips from their grimace.
Shocked mint green eyes shot to hers, the hand holding a glass of water to his lips slowly lowering as a droplet of water tumbled over the edge of his full lower lip, hiding in his beard. "Indie? What are you doing up?"
The ominous ticking of the clock hanging lopsidedly on the wall was the only noise in the room for an endless second.
"Couldn't sleep," she finally murmured, unable to remove her eyes from the adorable sight of Laker cradling Marley against his bare chest, her head pillowed against his shoulder, one arm draped around him, the other snuggling Mr. Bunny between their bodies. She was fast asleep, snoring quietly; contentedly.
Warmth spread through her body, washing away the lingering chill left behind by her most recent nightmare until all Indie could feel was the comfortable calm accompanying Laker’s presence. In the still, silent night it was all-too-easy
to feel complacent, but she forced herself not to succumb to the strong torrents of relaxing energy Laker always exuded, something she could only assume was linked to the memory of being cradled in his arms as he and Riley rescued her and Grace from the fire.
Just the quick flicker of a flame in her mind's eye sent a shudder down Indie’s spine. Heat licked up her slender frame to scorch the part of her mind that hadn't yet started to heal or process everything that had happened in the last few days, leaving her heart racing as her body began to tremble.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Before Indie could protest, not that she was sure she would, Laker had crossed the shabby expanse of carpet, set his drink down, and was looping his long, free arm around her shoulder, enveloping her against his warm chest beside Marley. A tremor ran through her as his hand came up to gently stroke through her curly locks, mussed by sleep but not something she was bothered about in the wake of her nightmare. It was even less of a concern now as sobs began to wrack her body so hard her teeth chattered.
"It's all right, I've got you. I've got you."
They rocked side-to-side gently, Laker’s caress from the crown of Indie’s head down to the middle of her back where her hair ended soothing both of them in equal measure.
Only when Indie took a small step back, as calm as she felt she'd get, did Laker cease his ministrations.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"No problem. You okay now?"
Indie nodded, then shook her head with a sigh. "Yes? No? I don't know?" She met his eyes, seeing nothing but gentle encouragement waiting within their pretty depths. It was different from the sympathy in the eyes of the agents, the expectation in her father's, and the confusion in Marley's whenever she saw her mommy having a panic attack.
"I thought this would all feel…different. Happier, easier, less painful. I didn't expect to feel so scared all the time. I didn't expect to be so exhausted, twenty-four-seven. I mean, I want to spend time with all of you because I've missed you all so much," Indie trailed off with a long breath, tipping her head back and letting her eyes fall closed. "But all I want to do is curl up and sleep."
Laker stared at Indie, so familiar in so many ways, but unfamiliar in far more. His eyes swept over the yellow handprints around her swan-like neck, the stark white bandage at her temple, and the way the clothes she'd been given hung off her body despite being a crazily small size. Her eyes were underscored by black bags, her cheeks hollow, and smiles wan even when they were genuine.
"Come sit with me? I could use a rest. This little one sure is a fidget."
"You're telling me. We've shared a bed with her since she was born. She's always been a sleep-fidgeter."
Laker took a seat on the couch, careful not to jostle Marley against his chest, and patted the spot beside him with a small smile. It was lopsided, framed by dimples, and spread to his eyes, vivid even in the dim light filtering through the room from the moon. Indie hesitated, but he could see the moment she surrendered. She was too tired not to; he could see that, too.
Her weight barely dented the cushions when she sat, curling her legs beneath her and settling with a few inches of space between his thigh and her knees. Indie’s half-lidded eyes were already fighting a losing battle, so Laker wasn't surprised when, after only a minute or two of humming a nonsensical tune, she slowly tipped forwards until her face rested against his shoulder right beside Marley's, their soft puffs of breath mingling but thankfully not tickling him. He settled in and got comfy with the girls sleeping against him, his heart full and content knowing Indie was resting and safe.
~ oOo ~
The FBI’s favoured vehicle, a black SUV with tinted windows, pulled up outside the safe house the following afternoon amidst a cloud of dust. From her crouched position with her knees tucked into her chest on an armchair in the corner of the living area, Indie flinched at the muffled sound of a car door closing outside. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she listened to two pairs of footsteps getting closer.
An agent had gone outside to meet the new arrival as she walked leisurely up the path, neon pink rucksack in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. As soon as the click of the front door echoed through the house, Indie’s eyes flew open and found the door to the hallway. Grace wasn't far away, sitting on the sofa nearby, next to Laker and Marley. The little girl had brought her portable DVD player downstairs, and was watching SpongeBob while munching on some cooled toaster waffles, happy to be on Laker’s lap with her mommy close by.
Grace wasn't comfortable, by any means, but she shoved away her hatred of the idea of a stranger in the house for Indie’s sake. It was obvious she needed this extra help.
"Good afternoon, Miss Winters. Riley Lawrence."
After Riley had introduced himself, he let Megan Winters into the room where Indie, Grace, Laker, and Marley were waiting for them. Both Reagan and Peter were outside smoking, hating that they needed a break but aware they should take one while the girls were otherwise occupied; that way, they could go back inside when they were really needed. Nobody was under any illusions—the girls would need their dads when this was over. They were also following Riley's request to give them a little space to get used to Megan without their presence.
"Miss Winters, this is Grace Davies," he paused, nodding at Grace reassuringly, before settling his eyes on Indie in the corner. “And this is Indie Ashby. Laker here is a family friend, and the little lady on his lap is Indie’s daughter, Marley."
Still engrossed in her cartoons, Marley hadn't even noticed Megan's entrance. Laker turned her slightly so she'd be less likely to. The longer they could keep her distracted, the better. If she had a meltdown, they weren't sure how Indie would react.
"A shrink."
Three sets of shocked eyes flew to the blonde in the corner following her words, which had been spoken through gritted teeth. The fourth set of eyes, soft blues belonging to Megan Winters, gazed kindly at the young woman. She took in the young woman tucked into a ball on the chair, black jogging bottom-clad legs tightly pressed to her chest, the dark purple hoodie she wore far too baggy on what she'd been warned was an incredibly slight frame.
For a few long moments nobody seemed to know what to say. They simply watched Megan watching Indie, who stared over her left shoulder at the wall. "I've heard a lot about you both. I'm looking forward to getting to know you a little better." Leaving it there, she turned to Riley. "Will I be staying here, or at a hotel?"
Riley got himself together enough to tell her she had a room ready upstairs, leading her up there once she'd grabbed her bag from the floor where the other agent had left it. Grace stood to make her way to Indie as soon as their footsteps hit the stairs.
"Hey, it's just me," she whispered, curling into the gap Indie created for her by shuffling over. They twined their fingers together. "Are you okay?"
Indie’s answering nod was slow, a breath hissing out through her teeth as she forced herself to relax. Her muscles hurt, everything tensed and stuck between fight or flight.
It's just Grace.
The pair stayed together in that small chair for hours. Grace was the first to move, when she needed to use the bathroom, and Indie followed shortly after, lying rigid in the twin bed beside Grace’s until she woke the entire household with her petrified wails forty-five minutes later.
Reagan reached the room first, Peter seconds behind him while Megan emerged just as Grace opened the door; she stepped into her dad's arms as tears began to wrack her frame. Megan took in the way she visibly shuddered at Peter's touch, choosing to fight her fear in order to stay close to him, a man she wholeheartedly loved. The sight was one that warmed her even as it broke her heart. No girl should be scared of her father, even only subconsciously.
The sight of Indie stirred a different reaction—different concerns.
Muffled sobs and whimpers escaped her room in waves as she fought whatever attacked her in her dreams. Peering inside, she saw Reagan hovering unsurely near the bed. It wa
s clear he didn't know what to do with himself, and who could blame him? Though all his instincts told him to hold his daughter close after her nightmare, he knew it would do more harm than good. At this point, any contact with anyone other than Grace seemed to send Indie into a spiralling tunnel of panic, made worse by the fact that she desperately wanted human touch to comfort her, despite not being able to withstand it.
Megan had enough experience to know Indie was probably aware of Reagan’s harmlessness, however, her recent trauma coupled with what she suspected was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder stopped her from being able to control the way her mind and body reacted.
Seeing Indie tucked tight into the fetal position on the twin bed, anxious dad on his knees at her side while everybody else hovered outside the room, Megan was confident Riley had done the right thing by calling her out.
"Reagan? Could you come here a moment, please?" She murmured quietly, offering the man a reassuring half-smile when he glanced towards her. Seconds later, he joined the crowd in the hall, harrowed eyes still fixed upon his daughter.
His words were a plea. "What do I do? How can I help her?"
"I think, right now, the best thing for her is somebody as neutral as possible. Is there any one person she reacts to well? Apart from you, Grace. You can't be her only comfort blanket, it isn't safe or healthy for either of you. And at the moment it doesn't seem that she recognises you when she's in the throes of a nightmare, does it?"
Grace frowned, upset she couldn't help, but shook her head. "No, she doesn't react at all to me when she's like this. I always used to be able to help her with nightmares, but this is something different."
Megan nodded, like she'd expected as much. "All right." Her eyes fell upon Laker, leaning in the doorway to his room with a sad look on his face. He'd thought the previous night had been a turning point. It was the first full night's sleep she'd had, curled into his shoulder on the sofa. And yet here they were again.