by Ciara Shayee
"Laker, how do you feel about trying to get through to her? You say she slept well with you in the room last night."
All eyes were suddenly on him; Laker’s ears flushed scarlet. "Uh, well, yeah. I didn't do anything special though, and she wasn't having a nightmare. Do you think it will help?"
Megan nodded, "I think it’s worth a try."
"Then, yeah, sure. As long as it's okay with you, Ray."
Reagan shrugged sadly. "I just want her to be…I don’t know, peaceful? I want her to be untroubled. Whatever it takes, son. Just help her if you can." With that, he walked dejectedly down the hall to the room he shared with Peter. His friend followed him after giving Grace one last squeeze.
Megan watched as Laker moved to perch on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke the hair away from her face. It was dampened by sweat, her body writhing in the sheets.
"Hey, Pie, it's me, Laker. Can you hear me?"
It took a moment or two, but Indie’s cries did settle a little. Megan narrowed her eyes.
"There you go. It's just me, see?"
"L-Laker?"
Laker nodded, stroking her hair. "Yeah, it’s just Laker. It's just me. It was just a dream, Pie, just a dream. You're safe."
Megan mentally made a note of the fact that every time Laker called Indie ‘Pie’, it seemed to calm her. She rolled, swiftly tucking her body as close to Laker as possible. He looked back at Megan in question.
This was an odd situation, and for a moment she questioned her suggestion—to send Laker in. But it was helping.
Indie’s sobs tapered into huffs of exhausted breath, the odd sniffle punctuating them here and there. She'd curled herself around Laker, one fist tight in the material of his red plaid pyjama pants, the other white-knuckling the covers.
"What do I do, Megan?"
Before Megan could get even a syllable out, Indie tightened her hold.
"Stay with me? Please? Just until I fall asleep."
There was no way Laker could have turned down her request, her tone laced with a plea he knew she wouldn't push if he said he wanted to go back to his room. With no immediate rebuttal from Megan in the doorway, he careful nudged her so she let him swing his long legs up onto the bed and recline against the headboard. She adjusted her position accordingly and wound up the side of his body like a vine, relaxing with a final shudder.
With Laker’s assurance that he'd call on her if he needed to, Megan returned to the bedroom she'd been given at the end of the hall to settle in for a restless night, going over what she'd do the following morning to get Indie and Grace on the long road to recovery. It was an incredibly daunting task; by far the most challenging she'd been given in her career.
The memory of Indie’s grief-stricken face as she fought her sleep-demons was fresh in Megan's mind as she drifted off into a fitful sleep, knowing her first decision of the day was going to cause ructions in the house. Nobody was going to like it, least of all Indie.
Even just in the hours since Megan had arrived, Indie had repeatedly vomited, and shown all the symptoms linked to after-effects of a head injury. She was obviously very poorly, and nobody seemed to be able to explain it. Her fear would be a huge hurdle to overcome but Megan was increasingly concerned about her overall health as much as her mental stability, and knew tomorrow would be a difficult day when she voiced her professional opinion.
Indie needed to go to the hospital.
chapter twelve
The ominous ticking of the cracked clock was the only noise in the house. Silence stretched the tense atmosphere until it was so taut it was liable to snap, tearing the fragile blonde in the corner apart in the process.
Grace, Peter, and Riley were outside in the concrete courtyard, Agent Matthews standing guard at the front door as usual while his colleague, Agent Willows, poured coffees in the kitchen.
In the living area, Megan sat on a worn stool, ever-gentle eyes trained on Indie. She cowered in a wingback chair, hair un-brushed in a loose ponytail, eyes wide but bloodshot as a result of her lack of sleep. She’d managed a meagre few hours after her nightmare, but even that sleep was plagued by nightmares teasing the edge of her subconscious.
Dressed in the same purple hoodie and jogging bottoms as she had been the day before, and hunched in on herself the way she was, Indie looked tiny. More like a child than the adult she’d grown into. The sight made Megan’s heart ache, especially when she saw the way Marley routinely glanced over with a knot between her tiny brows, obviously seeing the pain in her mother’s posture and behaviour.
Megan was positive only Laker’s presence beside her on the floor was keeping her from leaping into Indie’s arms. Him, and the portable DVD player set to her new favourite show in her lap.
“Let me get this straight…” Reagan growled from his spot, perched on the edge of the sofa. “I’ve just gotten my daughter back, and now you want to take her away again and stick her in a hospital?”
“Nobody is taking anyone away, Mr. Ashby. Your daughter desperately needs medical attention, if only to diagnose whatever it is making her so sick.”
Reagan couldn’t argue, having seen for himself more than once how sick Indie had been. As a child she’d had sick bugs, of course, but it was nothing like the nausea that had plagued her over the last few days. He may not like it, but his need to have Indie healthy and well were overriding any motivation he had to argue. He didn’t want her to leave his sight at all, of course he didn’t, but he wanted her better. He wanted his daughter to have everything. And that included her health, her well-being. It took everything to stop himself from yelling and throwing anything he could get his hands on when Megan continued, informing him that she’d made the necessary arrangements with Riley for Indie’s transport.
“I just feel that a doctor needs to look Indie over, Mr. Ashby, at least to discount anything sinister. She’s clearly not well, and that head wound definitely needs a once-over. She should have gone to the hospital right away, Grace too. And Marley…well, I doubt that she’s ever seen a doctor in her life.”
“She hasn’t.” Indie murmured. She raised her face from her arms, staring at her daughter as she continued, “she’s never seen a doctor, a dentist…nobody but us and the men on the ranch.”
Glancing at each other, Reagan and Megan shared similar thoughts.
This could be the opening we were hoping for…
Everybody had tried to get information about Garrett Smith from the girls, but as soon as his name was mentioned they just shut off. It was like a switch being pressed, and there was no switching it back. They had to reset on their own, and nobody wanted to push them too far. They needed the information, sure, but Riley and Megan had agreed it wasn’t worth sending any of the girls into full-blown meltdowns. There were still agents on the ground hunting for Smith, and all the witnesses had been interviewed. Including the woman from the motel, of course. Her description and subsequent police sketch of the arsonist had matched Garrett almost to a ‘T,’ the only exception being the ponytail—but it wasn’t too out there to assume that he’d had other priorities besides getting his hair cut into its usual medium-length style.
“Men? You mean the ranch hands?” Megan asked.
Indie nodded with a little sigh Megan couldn’t decipher. “I asked for a doctor for her, once, when she was a baby. Eight-months-old, maybe? She had this awful cold…”
Laker, Reagan, and Megan watched as the memories seemed to engulf Indie, her body curling in tighter on itself. She shivered. “It was freezing. We had an early winter, and we all got sick. But Marley…she was still so tiny and she just seemed to be ill forever. He wouldn’t let us get a doctor out but we couldn’t get away from the ranch because of the snow, so we just had to make do with what we had. She got better eventually, obviously, but…I don’t know. She struggles during the winter, or when we have a particularly cold day. I always wonder if it’s because of that.”
As Megan assured Indie she did the best job possible, gi
ven the circumstances, Indie belatedly realised she had a stronger accent than Riley’s with a distinctly Texan twang, like Ryan.
“Ryan…” She whispered the name so softly that she didn’t think anybody had heard her.
Marley obviously did, though.
Her head popped up, eyes darting around the room as a tiny smile tugged her lips upwards and outwards. She looked hopefully at her mother, who gave her a small, regretful frown.
“Sorry, baby girl, Ryan isn’t here. I was just thinking about him.”
Disappointed, but easily distracted by some crackers and her show, Marley left the subject alone. Megan, however, had no plans of the sort.
Riley strode into the room with Peter and Grace at his sides, a grimace on his face. “The transport to the hospital is pulling around,” he interrupted as Megan began to ask who Ryan was, wondering if he could be the missing piece of the Marley puzzle. “Are we ready?”
Reagan and Indie shared a long look. The latter sighed, reaching up to brush her fingertips across the band-aid on her head. She’d been changing it every couple of hours, the skin around the wound bright red and sore to the touch, still. It should have healed by now, or at least started the process. And as for the sickness…she wasn’t opposed to something to help with that. She hadn’t experienced nausea like it since her pregnancy with Marley.
“All right,” Reagan sighed, the misery written all over his posture as he stood and helped Indie to her feet.
Curious of the sudden movement, Marley scampered to her feet and climbed onto Laker, patting his face to get his attention as Indie and Grace made their way upstairs to fetch some clothes. He smiled, but it was tinged with a sadness he couldn’t explain.
“Indie—er, Mommy and Grace are just going upstairs, they’ll be right back. Then we’re all going on a little trip, okay?”
Marley frowned. Laker hated to see the look on her face. He’d grown attached to her sweet smiles and lived to see them.
“We’re going to the hospital, to see a doctor that will help make Mommy better.”
It was clear Marley knew what he meant, because her face brightened and she reached up to touch his head in the same place Indie’s wound was covered by a dressing. If she didn’t have the words, she definitely had the understanding.
“That’s right, Little Sweet.” Proud, Laker rested his forehead against hers for a beat, grinning when she tapped her lips with her fingertips before brushing his cheek with them. Grace had admitted it was her way of saying ‘I love you.’ He couldn’t help but return the sentiment.
They both turned at the sound of footsteps, Marley reaching for Indie when she made it to the bottom step. She took her daughter willingly, curling her into her chest as she sat contently on her hip, face snuggled into the crook of her mother’s neck.
~ oOo ~
Within ten minutes, they were all in the back of yet another black SUV. By the time they arrived at the hospital an hour later, they’d had to pull over three times for Indie to empty her stomach of its already-meagre contents. FBI agents escorted the group through a back entrance up to the private ward where they had pre-arranged for the girls to stay, a handful of agents waiting in plain clothes to ensure their privacy wouldn’t be breached.
It didn’t take long to get Indie and Grace changed into comfy clothes that allowed the nurses and doctors to do what they needed to, and both girls found themselves overwhelmed by the unfamiliar people, surroundings, and noises. It had been a long time since they’d been in a hospital, and although they’d remembered it to be a safe place in their twelve-year-old memories, it was too formal, too sterile, for them to relax.
Reagan and Peter found it all to be too much, seeing their daughters folded in hospital beds pushed close to one another, watching them flinch every time a nurse entered the room. It was all necessary, but it wasn’t pleasant for either of them to watch. Megan had eventually shooed them from the room when Marley and Grace fell asleep tucked close to one another in Grace’s bed, the day too overwhelming despite it not even being noon.
Only one remained, watching over the girls silently from a chair in the corner by the window.
Quiet sniffles drew his attention away from the view.
“Hey, hey, now, you’re okay. What’s wrong?”
Laker moved to perch on the edge of Indie’s bed, hesitantly reaching out for her hand. He smiled gently when she flipped it over, gripping his fingers hard when he moved them the rest of the way and clasped her much smaller hand within his.
She sniffled, lashes wet as she blinked owlishly at him. In this setting she appeared so pale, so fragile. “I never thought…I never thought we’d get here, that’s all.”
“Well, you’re here. Make the most of it. As much jelly and ice cream as your heart desires,” Laker promised with a wink.
Indie smiled despite herself, squeezing his fingers in thanks before letting go and running her hands through her hair. It hadn’t been brushed for two or three days, she couldn’t remember exactly, and the tangles hurt when she tried to brush through them.
“You want me to help? I used to be good at that.”
Indie sighed, nodding in defeat. She remembered Laker sitting through hours of Archie messing with her hair when they were younger, when Reagan broke his wrist on a building site. She was around seven, meaning Laker would have been thirteen or so, but he’d wound up becoming quite the stylist by the time he left for Italy at the end of that summer. His skills even surpassed Archie’s—not that Indie ever admitted it.
“Where’s your brush?”
“Over there, on the table-thing.”
Returning with brush in hand, Laker smiled and patted the bed. “All right, spin a bit. I can’t get at your head from this angle.”
It’s Laker. It’s just Laker, Indie reminded herself as she twisted on the bed, offering him her back. It felt unnatural to turn her back on a man. Foolish. But it was just Laker, and he’d never hurt her. In fact, he was often the one to pull her from nightmares and stop the hurt, so she shoved down the fear bubbling within her stomach and forced herself to breathe as he started at the tips of her hair and laboriously combed through the snarls in her blonde mane.
The entire process was relaxing. By the time he’d reached her crown, Indie’s eyes were half-lidded and she was barely holding herself upright. Soothed by Laker’s rhythmic, gentle motions, she allowed herself to slump a little, but she froze when it made her lower back come into contact with his knee, folded up on the bed behind her.
Calmly, he adjusted his position and gave her a soft pat to the head. “All done. Go on, get comfy and have a nap. I’ll leave you to—”
“No!” Indie’s outburst startled herself. She twisted to face him, her eyes wide and pleading despite the sleep lurking within their azure depths. “No, please, don’t go. Will you stay? Just until I’m asleep?”
Laker recalled the night before, when he’d fallen asleep with her curled against his side. He’d tried to disentangle himself from her grasp a few times, but it only made her groan and toss, so he’d remained even though he felt a little awkward doing so because he wanted her to get some much-needed rest. He’d thought it had helped, but then she’d been lethargic and virtually unresponsive for much of the morning. She admitted nightmares had haunted her, though not as badly as usual. Megan told him that she suspected his presence was the cause of her more peaceful night. She’d surmised, from Indie’s behaviour around Laker in particular, that she found a lot of comfort in his company.
Laker had promised Archie he’d help in any way he could. If that meant helping Indie overcome her nightmares, so be it.
“I’ll stay, don’t worry. Get comfy and have a nap. You’ll feel better after.”
Relief flooded Indie’s face as she relaxed, leaning back against the pillows. She cast a longing look over at Grace and Marley, their arms entwined, Marley’s hand twisted into the fabric of Grace’s scrub top. Mr. Bunny was ensconced in the sliver of space between their bodie
s, never far from Marley’s tiny fists.
“Thank you, Laker.”
He grinned, brushing a wayward lock of hair back behind Indie’s ear. Her eyes were sliding shut even as he rose from the bed and tugged the hospital blanket up over her. He felt the warmth of her cheek as his fingertips slid past during their retreat. An electric current zinged between their bodies. Putting it down to static in the air, Laker sighed and stood, getting comfortable in the chair by the window once more to keep his promise to Indie.
As she drifted off, he couldn’t help but ruminate over the entire situation. Just a week ago he’d been home in Italy, not a care in the world. Yet here he was, sitting just feet away from two girls who, honestly, he’d wondered if he’d ever see again.
And of course there was Marley, a little ray of silent sunlight he hadn’t expected. Well, nobody had expected her. She was bright and brilliant, and oh-so-sweet.
Yes, he knew Indie was still having nightmares.
And yes, he also knew Grace wasn’t faring exceptionally well—better than Indie, but only marginally.
But he also saw their progress. He saw the way they were opening up more and more, trying to lean on their support system. They were moving forward. With the help of the doctors and nurses at the hospital, they could only progress further once their health wasn’t such an issue. It was no secret that Indie was scarily underweight, her persisting sickness not helping matters, though a nurse had mentioned nausea could be a symptom of concussion resulting from her head injury. So, though it wasn’t pleasant, it was fixable.
Indie could overcome it. She could overcome the past, the torment she and Grace had been subjected to, though he didn’t know quite what that entailed and wasn’t sure he wanted to. It would take time, patience, and lots of love, but Indie and Grace, along with Marley, would be able to move on from the past twelve years of captivity. Of that, Laker was sure.
So, yes, they were moving towards their freedom, both mental and physical, and Laker couldn’t be happier about it.