by Ciara Shayee
Once it was finally empty, Indie made her way over to the rest of the group. They were gathered on chairs near the window, Marley leaving Laker’s lap to ask to be picked up. Ignoring the several glowers she earned herself by stooping to pick up Marley herself, Indie gave her daughter an Eskimo kiss before steeling herself and looking to Riley. He smiled at the eye contact, knowing it was an incredible feat for her to manage without prompting.
He was proud of how far she’d come, how far she and Grace both had come.
“All right, a car will be arriving shortly to take us all to the airport. The plane is fuelled and waiting to take us to New York, where we’ve got an overnight stay before we fly back to England tomorrow morning,” Riley explained.
Indie tuned out the rest of his words, trying to wrap her head around the fact that in twenty-four hours she’d be back in Eastbourne.
Instead of focusing on that particular notion, she contemplated the quiet argument she’d heard earlier in the morning between her dad, Peter, and Riley.
Riley needed their statements, which neither Reagan nor Peter were happy about.
Reagan and Peter were harnessing every protective instinct they had to prevent their girls from having to recount their ordeal any time soon. They were very aware it would need to happen at some point, but if they had their way, it would be a long time before that day came.
Indie herself was torn. On the one hand she wanted to get it over with so she could focus all her energy on getting better. However, she knew the agents were going to ask in-depth questions and want detailed answers. They’d want to know if Garrett had committed any other crimes, and if he had, what they were. She’d have to talk about things like how he kidnapped them, how he got them out of England and into the States undetected.
Worst of all, Indie knew they’d ask about the many scars marring her skin, and about Marley’s biological father.
A frisson of fear skittered over her when she realised something that was obvious, but hadn’t crossed her mind before.
The FBI was going to want to know the name of the father of the baby she currently carried.
There were scars she kept hidden by clothes, but Indie was sure the agents would want to know about them, about how they got there in the first place. Nothing good would come of lying, but the thought of reliving how they came to be was terrifying.
Glancing at her dad from the corner of her eye, Indie fought a wince, hating that he’d have to find out how she’d lived for the past twelve years. It would wreck him. It was bad enough that he and Peter had been privy to some of the interview transcripts after the FBI rounded up some of the ranch hands. They’d returned from their trip to Billings only to find the ranch burnt to the ground and everyone gone. Riley’s agents took them all to the FBI building in Montana and interviewed them, one by one. Some of them had been on the ranch for years; others had only been there since the previous summer. Riley wouldn’t disclose anything they’d said except that they verified their story with regards to how Indie and Grace were treated in front of the ranch hands. Away from prying eyes was another matter.
One of the agents had foolishly left out the transcripts of the interviews with the ranch hands. Morbidly curious, Reagan and Peter couldn’t help but skim-read a couple. Riley was furious—but understood their motivation to want to know what was going on—when he returned to the house to find the two fathers fluctuating between feeling irate and distraught that nobody noticed, nobody did anything to save their girls from the horror taking place right under their noses. A couple of the guys who’d been there longer expressed concerns in their statements, which made it worse. If they’d said something, things could have been different.
It took Riley playing devil’s advocate and pointing out that it could have been worse to calm Reagan and Peter. They were isolated out there on the ranch; the guys had explained how they didn’t have phones because signal was so spotty and the boss was so weird about them having electronics in the house. Now, they knew why.
Knowing Reagan and Peter were aware of even a little of what went on while she and Grace were on the ranch made Indie feel sick.
Fingers weaving themselves together with hers tugged Indie from her thoughts. Her eyes caught Grace’s teary baby-blues. “Are you ready?”
They were the exact same words she’d spoken the day they escaped the ranch.
She nodded, squeezing Grace’s hand and pushing herself up. She and Grace were matching, both sporting bleached skinny jeans and black, asymmetric zip hoodies. Their shoes—Grace’s black sneakers, Indie’s beige—made no sound as they stepped away from the bed, awaiting direction. Duffle bags were shouldered, Marley’s portable DVD player and toys were packed into a drawstring bag, and the girls were ushered out of the room with the men in a square around them. Marley chose to hold Laker’s hand and skip beside him, so they stuck close to Indie and Grace. Laker had seen the way Indie’s eyes routinely checked on her as they moved through the corridors. If keeping her daughter as close as possible helped keep Indie calm, he was happy to do it.
With angry, eagle-like butterflies swooping in her stomach, Indie followed Riley, Reagan, and Peter towards the side entrance of the hospital where their ride was waiting. When she reached the doors, Indie froze. Since arriving at the safe house, she’d been outside exactly three times. Now, with the loading bays looming in front of her through the sliding glass doors, Indie couldn’t get her feet to move.
“You’ve got this, Indie. You’ve got this,” Grace urged in a whisper, the small smile on her face meant to be reassuring.
Laker and Marley had gone ahead with Riley, Reagan, and Peter, and Indie watched as Marley swung from Laker’s arms and beckoned her outside to join them.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of out here, Pie,” Laker murmured, his voice barely loud enough to carry to her. “Look around you; no one here will let anything happen to you.”
Nervous aqua eyes took in her surroundings, sweeping over each face peering at her with gentle eyes and encouraging smiles. Riley had agents stationed around the loading bays, nobody else around apart from their little group. Riley himself was standing around six feet away, his stance protective but reassuringly firm. Reagan and Peter’s presence was a beam of light in her mind, their warmth soothing the chill in her bones. The balmy air making the flag on top the hospital dance was soft on her skin as she managed a step towards the outside.
Laker was right, Indie acknowledged, inhaling fresh air deep into her lungs. None of those people would hurt her any more than they’d let Garrett hurt her. As difficult as it was, she mustered up enough trust and courage to step out into the direct sunlight on the concrete path leading to the SUV. Reagan’s relieved grin was brilliant in its intensity and pride, his eyes following her slow but steady progress towards him. Rays of sunlight bounced from her hair braided over one shoulder, giving it the healthy sheen it had been lacking in the artificial light within the hospital.
Each step was a mission Indie was determined to conquer, and when she finally made it to within touching distance of the SUV, nobody could have squashed the grin that spread across her face.
~ oOo ~
Six hours later, after two flights and a layover in Minneapolis, the group touched down in New York. With the two-hour time difference, they arrived at their hotel just after five-thirty, travel-weary and ready to rest. For Indie, Grace, and Marley, the journey was a completely foreign experience. The last time Indie and Grace travelled in the air they’d been knocked out by a cocktail of sedatives, and Marley had never seen a plane, let alone been in one.
Indie and Grace spent both flights tucked into each other’s sides, their eyes trained on the window as they soared across the United States towards an unknown future. Reagan and Peter were as attentive as ever, unable to take their eyes off their daughters. Even after witnessing their strong bond over the past month, they found it awe-inspiring to see it in action. As often as they’d wondered, hoped, and prayed their girls woul
d keep each other strong, they could never have foreseen the way they clung to the presence of the other; the way when one moved, the other seemed to automatically compensate.
Their senses were unparalleled, their movements undetectable to those around them unless they meant them to be. Having spent years perfecting undercover techniques, Riley often found himself fascinated by the girls, wondering if their way of moving was something they’d always done or whether it was developed on the ranch. He chose not to ask, preferring to think it was the former.
After checking into the hotel, the group was shown to the penthouse suite. It boasted three bedrooms, a large living area, dining room and kitchen, as well as two bathrooms and a wet room attached to the master bedroom. A unanimous decision granted Grace, Indie, and Marley the master, with Reagan and Peter taking the twin room next door, leaving Laker the smaller double bedroom. Security at the hotel had been ramped up in anticipation of their arrival; black-clad, armed security guards were stationed down the hall and right outside the penthouse, to give the family some semblance of normalcy without leaving them unprotected.
It didn’t surprise anybody when the girls retreated to their room almost as soon as they arrived, curling together on the bed while the rest of the group settled themselves in for a night at the luxurious hotel.
Tomorrow morning they’d board the third and final plane.
It would take them to Gatwick Airport, where they’d then get into a car which would deliver them to the homes they hadn’t seen since they left for school over twelve years ago. It was a daunting prospect, but one they’d been dreaming of since the day they woke up in a strange house with a sadistic man.
~ oOo ~
Sock-clad feet padded quietly across the carpet into the pitch-black kitchen, where Grace opened up the fridge to take a bottle of cold water.
As she turned to head back to their room, a silhouette on the sofa became visible. A large hand reached to flick on the light, illuminating the kitchen and living area in a soft glow. Reagan and Grace blinked at each other.
“Grace? What are you doing up?”
She shrugged meekly and picked invisible lint from her cropped grey tracksuit bottoms as she took a seat on the sofa. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Reagan’s eyes unconsciously flicked towards the door to the room she shared with Indie and Marley.
“She’s asleep. She had a nightmare, but she fell asleep again.” Their eyes met. “She’s getting better, Uncle Ray.”
“I know,” he breathed, tugging at his hair. “I know she is.” Wary of upsetting Grace, Reagan moved to sit on the sofa next to her, giving her plenty of time to object if she wanted to. Grace didn’t, so he plopped himself down on the other end of the seat. “Thank you,” he suddenly blurted.
Grace frowned. “For what?”
“Looking after her when you’re hurting, yourself. For being there for her when I can’t…for being her sister when she desperately needs one.” A shuddering exhale made the sofa tremble as Reagan twisted to face Grace, reaching out to clasp her hands in his.
“Christ, I don’t know what we’d do without you, Grace, I really don’t. I hate to think…”
“I owe it to her. I owe her everything, Uncle Ray, everything.”
Horrified, Reagan scrambled for tissues as tears started to tumble over Grace’s cheeks.
“All the things she’s done for me…I’ll never be able to make it up to her. There isn’t anything I can do—” Choked up, she trailed off with a muffled sob, and a hand rose to her mouth.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right.” Before he could decide if hugging her was something she’d be okay with, Grace dove into his arms, face buried in his chest, legs tucked beneath her as her hands clutched at Reagan’s black ribbed vest. “It’s okay, Grace; it’s all going to be okay.”
Though Grace wasn’t his daughter or related to him in any way biologically, Reagan had always cared about her in the same way he adored his brother’s five children. For the first eight years of her life, she’d spent as much time in his house as she did at her own. The girls would use a broken fence panel between the two gardens to play with Archie, Heidi, and Pippa. Indie and Grace had doted upon the younger twins, dressing them in their clothes and making them ride in their toy baby strollers.
And then there was Archie…he’d loved taking the girls to the park, the swimming pool, the soft-play centre in town. For Grace’s entire life, she and Indie had been more sisters than friends. It didn’t come as a shock to Reagan that he felt his heart swelling with love for her exactly the same as he did for Indie when she got upset.
“You’d hate me if you knew,” Grace sniffled.
“No, Grace, no. I’d never hate you, never.”
The pair sat in silence broken only by her shallow sobs and his quiet murmurs of comfort. After ten minutes, Grace finally gathered her emotions and pulled back to wipe her wet eyes, regarding Reagan warily.
“The scar above her right eye…not the newest one, the other one. The older scar?”
Reagan nodded, cautious. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this.
“That’s there because of me.” Before he could ask, Grace rushed on. “I knocked over a table with a vase on it a couple of years ago. We cleaned it up, and I didn’t think he knew, but the next day she had a cut on her head. Indie told me she hit it on the bathroom cupboard but I was only gone a minute and it wasn’t bleeding like it was fresh. I found out later that she went and told him it was her so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”
For ten, long, heart-in-mouth seconds Grace watched Reagan’s brows knit together, his mouth tightening into a thin line as his heart began to race beneath her fist on his chest.
“I’m so, so, sorr—”
“Don’t you dare apologise for him. Don’t.”
Fresh tears flooded baby-blue eyes. “It was my fault, though, Uncle Ray. If I’d just been more careful, or admitted it was me, she wouldn’t have that scar! She wouldn’t have most of them if it weren’t for me. I got her in trouble so many times, and she just took it, she took it all. She never blamed me, and I hate that she didn’t. I’ve never felt so helpless.”
“Oh, Gracie…” Hearing the nickname Reagan bestowed upon her when she was just a toddler, the same one Indie used every now and then, made Grace’s heart beat a frantic tattoo. The surreal situation seemed, at this moment, incomprehensible.
“It’s not your fault. None of it ever was. Do you hear me? None of it. That’s why Indie doesn’t blame you. You’re not to blame.”
Grace inhaled a deep, wobbly breath, letting it out with a quick glance at Reagan’s sincere, five o’clock-shadowed face. “I think I’ll go back to bed, try and get some sleep for tomorrow.”
“All right,” Reagan sighed, bone-weary from being unable to sleep even though he was exhausted. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
She nodded her agreement and murmured her ‘goodnight’ before hurrying away from the sofa towards her room. Just as Grace’s fingers reached the door handle her uncle’s voice stilled her.
“Just…remember what I said, okay? None of this was your fault.”
Though it was difficult for her to hear and even harder to accept, Grace nodded again. She’d try. That was all she could promise.
chapter fifteen
During the time they’d spent in America, Indie and Grace didn’t often allow themselves to think of England, or their families and homes. It was always easier not to. They didn’t know if they’d ever get to see those people or places as anything other than fuzzy memories through eight-year-old eyes. But every now and then, it was inevitable that they’d think of old times such as Mother’s and Father’s Day or the birthdays of their parents and siblings. Christmases would be cold and snowy but go uncelebrated. The ranch wouldn’t smell of Indie’s favourite gingerbread treats, or home-baked puddings nobody except Peter’s father-in-law, Roy, would eat. There was never a tree decorated with homemade stars or the angel Grace always got to put on the
top.
Worst of all, there wouldn’t be the loud, festive music the children danced to while joyously singing along in their Christmas outfits. Easter egg hunts were non-existent, as were Halloween parties with trick-or-treating and apple-bobbing in an old washing-up bowl.
Marley had never experienced the magic of a visit from Santa Claus, had never worn a silly costume for Halloween, or celebrated a birthday with wrapped gifts and a birthday cake. She didn’t even know what those things were. She’d never unwrapped a gift or experienced the excitement of coming downstairs on Christmas morning to a stack of gifts under a decorated tree.
For these occasions, Reagan and Peter had gone all-out with the decorations, especially after their mothers had passed. They wanted the children to have more than just horrific funerals to remember. They wanted their childhoods to be filled with good memories despite the tragedy, even though they, themselves, were battling despair.
With those thoughts in the back of her mind, Grace couldn’t believe how much the world had changed. In the years she, Indie, and Marley had been holed up on the ranch she’d been imagining the world the same as it had been when she’d left it. Yet from the back of the tinted-windowed black SUV, she stared at the streets in shock, because they’d changed beyond recognition.
The cars on the roads and in the driveways were shinier, more modern versions of the ones she remembered. The houses were newer in style with bright, white window frames, lawns manicured to within an inch of their lives, people wearing clothes so different from the kind she remembered from her childhood. Children played with toys on their front lawns, toys she could only have dreamed of. It was Saturday, so there were many children out enjoying the fine spring sun.