by Ciara Shayee
The door opened a handful of seconds after the engine cut out, and by the time the agent stepped through, he was standing.
“Morning, Ryan. So, I have some news for you. The girls are home.”
~ oOo ~
Back in Eastbourne
“Come on, Champ, just eat this little bit.”
Archie’s eyes flew to the hands on his watch for the ninth time in six minutes. Nine-fifty-eight. A mere minute had passed.
“No, Daddy! I don’t want jammy toast, I want choc’late hoops.” Young Carl-Roman crossed his arms over his chest, arranging his features into an adorable pout capable of melting the hardest of hearts, the blue-green eyes he inherited from his grandfather narrowed in determination. Apart from his curly black hair, a few shades darker than Archie’s chocolate brown, and his lighter eyes, the little boy was the spitting image of his dad when he was that age; argumentative streak very much included.
His baby brother, Chase, on the other hand, had Archie’s curly dark brown hair, but his mother’s grey-blue eyes. In the highchair beside Carl-Roman, he wore a big grin ringed with porridge, one fist in his mouth while the other mashed banana on the tray. Almost six months old, he was well into baby-led weaning and loving it. Although, he was more loving the mess than the actual food, much to Archie’s alternating amusement and frustration.
Archie blew out a breath, eyeing his eldest son with a raised eyebrow. “If I give you the hoops for breakfast today you have to have toast tomorrow, deal?”
Although he was well aware Kristen would have his guts for garters if she found out he’d been bargaining with their six-year-old over breakfast, he couldn’t help but be distracted by the time as it crawled by torturously slowly. In his childhood home just fifteen minutes away, his sisters were walking in the same rooms in which he’d only been able to imagine them for years. All he could think about was the fact that he could hop in his car and be there with them within a handful of minutes, that he’d be able to see them with his own eyes, hug them with his own arms. He just had to wait for the call from his dad giving him the okay to do so.
“Deal, Daddy!”
Archie refocused on Carl-Roman, removing the now-cold slice of toast before replacing it with a cartoon bowl of chocolate hoops. The clock read ten o’clock exactly when the bowl touched the wooden table, the shrill ring of the phone on the kitchen counter coinciding with it.
“You gotta get that, Daddy!” Carl-Roman chirped through a mouthful of cereal.
Archie swallowed thickly. “I know, Champ.” The phone felt hot in his hand when he finally grabbed it, lifting it to his ear and pressing the button flashing green. “Hey, Dad.”
“S’that my Pawpaw? Can I talk to him, Daddy?”
Archie gestured for his bouncing son to wait, the lump in his throat too thick to speak through.
“You can—” Reagan choked on his words, his tears obvious even through the phone. “You can come over as soon as you’re ready, son.”
Archie let out a long, gusty breath, more than ready to see his two best friends again.
“They’re home, Arch. They’re home.”
chapter sixteen
It had been years of heartache, longing, and anger for Archie, waiting for the tiniest bit of news regarding the whereabouts of Indie and Grace—yet sitting in his car idling outside his childhood home, he found himself frozen to the seat. Clammy hands white-knuckled the steering wheel, his foot trembling on the pedal. Despite the overwhelming need to have his sisters in his arms again, there was a part of him preparing for imminent, crushing disappointment.
In the past month he’d been keeping in close contact with Laker, Reagan, and Peter, so he knew in his logical mind that Indie and Grace, and Marley, the niece he couldn’t picture or make sense of just yet, were less than fifty feet away. He knew it wasn’t a trick. However, knowing that didn’t dispel the years upon years of debilitating blows, of rushing to the police station in the middle of the night only to discover it was a false lead. A false sighting, a cold trail, a kid playing a cruel prank.
It couldn’t erase the memory of being told the case had gone cold.
Carl-Roman kicked the back of his seat. “Daddy, why’re we in the car? Can we go inside now? Puh-lease?”
Archie looked at his son in the rear-view mirror, his heart beating a frantic tattoo against his rib cage.
“Uh,” he paused to clear his throat. “I’ve gotta tell you something first, Champ.”
“What?”
“You know your Auntie Indie and Auntie Grace?”
At the mention of the aunts he knew of but had never met, Carl-Roman cocked his head to one side, curious. He nodded.
Archie swallowed hard, the words he was about to say both easy and difficult to push past his lips. “They’re in Pawpaw’s house.”
Carl-Roman’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and his mouth fell open in a comical ‘O’. “Are they here to see me?”
“Something like that, Champ,” was Archie’s watery, chuckled reply. “You know when Mummy got sick, and she was a bit fragile? A bit smaller than normal because she couldn’t eat a lot?”
“Yep! I had to be real gentle ‘cause she hurted when I jumped on her. Are my aunties sick also, Daddy?”
Thankful for his son’s intelligence, Archie explained that he had to be gentle with them until they were stronger. With his dad’s tearful description of the girls’ conditions fresh in his mind, Archie tried not to think about it too hard, and moved on to the next subject he needed to cover.
“All right, and there’s one more thing…so you know how Ben’s auntie had a baby last year, little Robert?”
Carl-Roman nodded. “Uh-huh. He’s Ben’s cubbin.”
Archie tried not to laugh, knowing it would annoy Carl-Roman, and corrected him gently. “Cousin, Champ. Robert is Ben’s cousin. Well, Auntie Indie had—” he had to cough again, struggling to get out the words. Struggling to come to terms with the fact that his baby sister, “had a baby. Auntie Indie had a baby, Champ. You have a cousin.”
Carl-Roman grinned with glee, looking towards the house, then back at Archie. “I have a baby cousin, too? That’s cool, Daddy! Can I hold him?”
“Her, Champ. Your cousin is a girl. And she’s not a baby, either. She’s five.”
Counting on his fingers, Carl-Roman frowned. “So she’s a year younger than me? ‘Cause I’m six, and she’s five.”
“That’s right, Champ. Good math, son. Her name is Marley, and she’s five, so yes—she’s a year younger than you, but she’s older than Chase.”
“Okay, I guess that’s all right. I can share my toys, if she wants. I don’t mind.”
Smothering chuckles and swallowing back tears, Archie grinned and reached around to ruffle his son’s hair, never more proud of him than in that moment. “I’m sure she’ll really appreciate that, son. Thank you.”
Finally, after ten minutes of sitting on the driveway, Archie stepped onto the pavement, letting his eager son out before removing Chase from the car, still in his carrier, and following Carl-Roman up the path to the front door. A mixture of terrified and excited, his hand trembled as he used his key to enter.
The sound of his dad’s voice from the kitchen told him where he needed to go. In spite of the fact that he’d walked this small hallway thousands of times, Archie couldn’t help but feel the wariness of his feet, the photograph hanging on the wall making his eyes prickly with heat as he passed it. It was taken the same day as the one the police used during the search.
Grace, Indie, Archie, Heidi, and Pippa were all there, lying fast asleep on a picnic blanket. They’d worn themselves out in Hampden Park and tumbled onto the ground upon their return where Peter managed to capture the sweet scene on his camera.
“Hi, I’m Carl-Roman Ashby. You’re my Auntie Indie, and you’re Auntie Grace, right?”
Archie stepped into the kitchen just as Carl-Roman barrelled up to two figures, much smaller than he’d envisioned but so very recognisable w
ith their strawberry-blonde curls and auburn waves.
Dark eyes remained fixed on Carl-Roman and the aunts he was just then meeting as he rocked on his heels, grinning up at Indie and Grace.
Indie nodded shakily, unable to take her eyes away from him; unable to believe he was her nephew even though she loved him on sight.
“Good. Oh, this is my baby brother, Chase. He’s really little, so he doesn’t talk or dance or play football like me. Daddy, how old is he again?”
Archie shook his head at his little whirlwind, but before he could answer, Carl-Roman was running his mouth once more.
“Oh! D’you wanna see my new trains? They’re so cool! D’you like trains, Auntie Grace?”
All eyes were on the trio around the dining table, even more so when both girls found themselves incapable of speaking. Tears poured over their cheeks, splashing the stone tiles underfoot.
Carl-Roman’s grin drooped. “Why’re you sad? Pawpaw,” Reagan scooped his worried grandson into his arms, trying so very hard not to give into his own tears. “Why are Auntie Indie and Auntie Grace sad?”
“They’re not sad, Champ. They’re just so, so happy that they don’t have room for it all. The happy is leaking, that’s all. That’s why they’re crying. They’re happy tears.”
The looks the girls gave him were of gratefulness, joy, and overwhelmed disbelief, which was all the confirmation he needed that he’d hit the nail on the head.
Meanwhile, Carl-Roman’s expression evened out into his usual grin. “Oh. Okay, Pawpaw, I got this.”
With his trainer-clad feet back on the floor, he stood between his aunts, eyeing Indie, then Grace. “You gotta be happy all the time now, ‘cause you’re home with us. Daddy said you went away for a while, but now you’re home so I can show you my trains! They’re super cool; I swear you’ll like ‘em.” Eyeing the girls sceptically, he sighed. “I might even let you play with my Thomas train. He’s special, but I think you’ll be okay if you don’t take him outside. Right, Daddy?”
Archie nodded, but it was Peter that spoke.
“Hey, Carl-Roman, you want to show me first, and we’ll get them all set up for your aunties?”
Carl-Roman cast a longing look at Indie and Grace, but he was placated when Peter reiterated that they’d be right back once they’d set up the tracks and got the trains ready. Archie sighed long and low, realising he was just trying to give him time with his sisters. He shot Peter a grateful smile as he led Carl-Roman from the room. Peter had seen the trains hundreds of times, but he always managed to muster the same amount of excitement for them as he had the first time Carl-Roman brought them over. It was from him that Carl-Roman had learned his love of trains, in the first place.
As soon as he didn’t have to hold himself together for his son’s sake, Archie crumbled. “Oh God…”
His eyes took in the slim figures of his sisters. They weren’t the girls he remembered. They were only a few years older than he’d been when they went missing. Of the five children Reagan and Peter had between them, Archie was the only one with really vivid memories of their mothers, and it was with those he recognised Indie and Grace.
Twelve years later, and neither girl looked anywhere close to the same as they had back then. They were completely different people.
After numerous discussions with his dad, uncle, and friend during the past weeks, Archie had been informed about Indie’s panic attacks, nightmares, fear of touch, and second pregnancy. He knew that, for the time being, very few could get close to her. Reagan had explained they were malnourished, and haunted by a man on the run.
He’d never expected to feel so lost as he gazed at them, a breeze blowing through the open French doors, allowing the smell of freshly cut grass to fill the air. The urge to pull them both into his arms and never let go was so strong that he had to clench his free hand into a fist at his side, tightening the other around the handle of baby Chase’s car seat. He rooted his feet to the tiles, dark eyes swimming with tears of apprehension, and the pain of the two previously vibrant, energetic, healthy girls standing before him as shadows of their former selves.
Abruptly, Grace got to her feet. In just seconds, with a sob, she hit Archie’s chest. He set Chase’s carrier down, his strong arms engulfing her tiny, five-foot-five frame, his forehead resting on her crown as she shook with the tears that wracked her body. He’d spent enough years wishing for his sisters’ return that he didn’t care there were people around him watching the tears pour from his eyes into Grace’s hair, tied back in a scruffy bun.
“I’ve missed you, squirt,” he rasped.
“I’ve missed you too, Arch,” came her whimpered reply, her voice muffled against his t-shirt.
Over Grace, Archie watched his dad give into his own emotions, casting a look of hope and heartbreak at Indie. She stayed curled tight in a ball on the chair at the dining table, legs pulled to her chest, eyes wide and pointed right at her brother and sister just feet away. The desperation to join them was written all over her face. It was palpable, a scar worse than the physical ones on her skin purely because it was mental and couldn’t be fixed with a plaster, with stitches, or with medicine. This scar ran deep, her fear so powerful she couldn’t make her muscles move even to hug her brother—even after twelve years of wishing for this moment.
Archie’s heart thundered as he tucked Grace under his arm, smiling through his tears as he raised a hand to wipe moisture from her cheeks.
“Hey, don’t cry, Gracie. You’re home now.”
Grace sniffled as a smile crept onto her face. “I can’t even…God, it’s so good to see you again, big brother.”
Simultaneously, their eyes moved to Indie. His stomach rolled at the gut-wrenching look on her face. Glistening beads leaked from her tumultuous, sea-green eyes before tumbling over pallid cheeks to splash her shirt. Everybody could see the tremble of her hands resting atop her knees.
Without thinking, Archie stepped forwards. That one stride took him two feet closer. His sister’s body shook with an involuntary shudder, her eyes containing a tempest as she forced herself not to cry out. Grace slid herself from beneath Archie’s arm, watching along with Reagan with rapt attention as he approached Indie the same way someone might approach a wild, scared animal. His wariness was all for naught though, because a moment later, she slumped, falling sideways into the waiting arms of her brother.
“Is she okay? What happened?” Grace cried frantically as Archie cradled her, placing Indie on the small sofa beside the doors.
In a shaky voice, he muttered, “She fainted. It’s okay, she’s okay.”
“It’s all a bit too much, that’s all,” Reagan gently informed Grace, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and tugging her into his side to wait for Indie to wake up.
~ oOo ~
Deep brown eyes were the first thing Indie thought of when she slowly began to come back to herself.
Deep, dark, chocolate brown eyes.
Struggling to wade through waves of confusion, she fought to regain her senses. It felt as though she were underwater, the surface eluding her even as she kicked and struggled. There were a few reasons she knew that she couldn’t have been underwater.
The first was that she could feel the breeze. Soft voices were the second clue—muffled, but only slightly. The third was because she had a vivid recollection of seeing Archie. He’d never let her go under the water. Never.
It was with that thought she managed to gingerly peel open her eyes. The bright light was startling at first, so she blinked a few times to adjust. Taking in her surroundings for a moment, Indie saw Grace’s nervous expression from across the room. Reagan offered her a reassuring smile from his place at her side. Her eyes shifted, finding the young man perched on the end of the sofa.
He grinned sheepishly, fresh tears springing free. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like crap,” she murmured, the emotions from before her faint returning full-force.
It was Archie…her friend, pla
ymate, big brother. Gazing at him, she could see the scrawny boy with perpetually skinned knees, the lean teenager with girls hanging from his every word, and the man he’d grown into without her. Chocolate brown eyes he shared with their mother were the only thing the same. His hair was longer, flopping over his forehead instead of standing upright in carefully arranged spikes. What had been lightly tanned skin was much darker—a result of having a six-year-old with a love of the outdoors. Where he was once too lean and too tall for his frame, Archie was now over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, the long-sleeved white t-shirt he wore straining around his biceps. As he smiled carefully, Indie realised even his smile had changed.
“You’ve changed,” Indie pointed out needlessly. Just for something to say.
Archie’s quiet, sad chuckle was only for her ears. “So have you.”
She winced.
“I can’t believe how grown up you are, squirt. Christ, you were a baby…”
Memories flashed before his eyes. Memories of a smaller, much healthier Indie. Grace, too. The day they were born was still so clear in his mind. It was an insane day. They’d driven home from the hospital together, their mothers walking up the paths side-by-side with their daughters swaddled in matching blankets and caps, cooing over their newborns despite the tiredness setting in. Reagan, Peter, and Archie had trailed behind, smiles tired but miles wide.
Seven-year-old Archie had been beaming with pride at being able to carry the baby bags, one over each shoulder. He couldn’t stop himself from making a list of all the cool things he’d be able to teach his new sisters.
The feel of soft fingertips on his cheek yanked him from his thoughts. His eyes widened when he realised they were Indie’s.
“I hate seeing you cry, Arch. Please don’t—” She broke off, eyes trained on Archie’s as he reached for her. A long, shaky exhale tickled her lips on its way out as calloused fingers pressed feather-soft against the back of her hand, still resting on his cheek.