by Ciara Shayee
“No. Every spring, new men would show up to help with the ranch, but by winter, they’d gradually leave again because there was less to do.”
“Did the same ones ever come back?”
“Not really. A few stayed year-round, but mostly they just came for a few months, then we didn’t see them again. They stayed away from us, but we heard Garrett warning them that we were off-limits, so I’m not surprised. They all seemed a bit wary of him. The few that stayed all the time ended up being good friends…” Grace trailed off, picturing Ryan’s face in the rear-view mirror back at the ranch. She hadn’t been able to shake the image from her mind, and often remembered driving away from him in her dreams.
They continued in this manner for almost two hours—Riley or Kendra prompting, Grace doing her best to give as much detail as she could. There were lots of things she didn’t know, or were second-hand knowledge because Garrett had, for some reason or another, never actually focused his abuse or attention on Grace.
“Thank you, Grace. You’re doing great; really, really well. Now, please can you tell us about Garrett, and how he treated you and Indie.”
“Umm, like when he was a-abusive?”
Riley nodded, so she sighed and steeled herself.
“We’d been there a few months when he did it the first time, I think. We were making lunch, and he came into the kitchen to get coffee. He told me to make him some with the new machine, but I didn’t know how, so Indie did it instead. When he came back, he was really mad and he dragged her out of the room. He sent me upstairs, though. I didn’t mean for her to get into trouble for me. I didn’t know what to do! And then, and then, she always got in trouble, even if things were my fault. He was so horrid to her. And I didn’t mean for her to get hurt. I’m sorry! Oh, God, I’m so sorry!”
At this point, Grace was all but hyperventilating. Riley moved quickly from his seat to rub her back in soothing circles, murmuring words of reassurance as she fought to suck in enough oxygen. Glancing up at Kendra, Riley made a quick decision.
“She’s had enough. We’ll see if Indie’s ready and let Grace have a break.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, bending a little to give her a soft smile. “You can take a break now, okay? There’s no rush.”
Grace nodded jerkily, her teary eyes darting towards the large window. She knew her dad was on the other side, but it was Indie she needed first. Riley stood, helping her stand on fawn-like legs, and led her from the room.
~ oOo ~
The sun emerged from between two thick clouds, peeking at the spectacle below for a second before retreating behind its cover. Rain permeated the clothes of the journalists and their cameramen who were gathered outside the station, all of them under orders to get the money shot.
They all wanted to see the girls.
A lone seagull swooped overhead, his shadow moving across the carpark, a single white feather dropping to fly past a cluster of windows at the back of the station. Reagan, Archie, and Laker were standing on the other side of one of those windows, carefully watching Indie. Her eyes were once again closed, her head tipped back against the sofa, her chest moving in unnaturally slow movements with each breath. For her dad, brother, and friend, the sight was unsettling, to say the least.
The only saving grace was that Marley had fallen asleep against Laker’s chest, her arms wound around his neck, face resting against his shoulder. Every puff of breath against his neck made Laker tighten his grip infinitesimally.
“She looks…” Archie trailed off with a wince. He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words.
Laker’s face screwed up in a grimace as he turned away, unable to look at her any longer. His whole body was tense, his muscles tight as he fought his anger to stay as calm as possible. For Marley, resting in his arms, Indie, and for Grace—who’d been next-door with Riley and Kendra Wallace for almost two hours, by then.
They were very aware Grace’s long session meant Indie’s was getting closer. At this point in time, they weren’t sure what to expect from the still, silent young woman. Reagan had expected nerves, possibly even a panic attack, but in true Indie fashion she’d had him perplexed and more than a little nervous with her subdued, seemingly content, demeanour. As much as he hated to see his baby girl upset, it was almost worse to see her this way. Surely, she couldn’t really be relaxed in the face of her upcoming task?
Laker patted the pockets of his cargo shorts with the hand not supporting Marley. Reagan’s eyes flicked to him, a slight smirk pulling at the right side of his mouth. “Still haven’t given up, huh?”
Laker’s eyes gave away his shame as he smiled wryly. “Still trying. It’s harder than it looks.”
Despite himself, Reagan snorted in amusement. Before this ordeal, it had been years since he smoked. He’d given up shortly before Penelope and Karen died, at his beloved wife’s insistence. She’d announced that he’d have no more kisses from her until she didn’t have to taste smoke on his lips, and he’d gone cold turkey that very day. Sure, he’d had relapses, but he’d stuck to his guns and cashed in on the extra kisses it earned him.
However, he could easily recognise the signs of a smoker in need when he saw them, which was why he’d picked up a pack of cigarettes the night before. The look of gratefulness on Laker’s face when he spotted the silver packet would have been comical if it weren’t for the fact that his fingers wrapping around the pack coincided with the click of the door opening. Grace’s grief-stricken face was visible for only a second before Indie’s curls obscured it, her arms looping around her friend as they moved to slump on the sofa in a tangle of hair, entwined limbs, muffled sobs, and Indie’s murmured words; so quiet that nobody but she and Grace could hear them.
Laker’s urge to smoke melted away at the sight of the girls’ obvious distress, the look on Peter’s face when he entered a minute later so murderously angry, so heartbreakingly sad, that he wondered how his friends were all going to get through this intact. He could clearly remember the determination Reagan, Peter, and Archie, among others, showed every time he visited. Every time he saw them on TV, he saw their fight, their strength, but looking at their solemn faces now?
They just seemed lost.
“Oh God,” Reagan choked on a whisper. When Laker glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, he came to a sudden realisation.
This was why Indie had been so quiet, so ‘relaxed.’ She’d been holding herself together for Grace. She knew this would happen, had predicted her collapse. Suddenly, her behaviour made sense in a way it hadn’t before.
Laker struggled to comprehend the bond the girls shared, but at the same time, he was so very thankful they’d had it to rely on. Had each other to rely on. To him, an only child, he’d always puzzled at the relationships of siblings and the way they behaved with one another. With Archie, Grace, and Indie, it was always different. Even as babies, the girls were close on an elemental level, their bond only strengthening as they grew into toddlers, children, and now, adults. To look at them was to see the unbreakable, remarkably tenable connection between the two. Never had Laker seen something so tangible, so heart-rending.
With a racing heart and clammy palms, he muttered an apology as he gently settled Marley on the spare sofa, managing to keep her asleep, and left the room. Somehow, with his mind preoccupied, he still managed to find his way out to the back of the station where Riley planned to have the girls leave later. He fell through the doors with unusual clumsiness for the normally well-balanced young man.
The two agents and single police officer guarding the doors gave Laker room to breathe, respectfully averting their eyes when he doubled over with his hands on his knees. Shallow, huffed breaths forced themselves from his lips. The image of Indie so still and silent haunted his mind until he found himself fighting back nausea. His stomach rolled, remembering Archie’s words.
She looks…
Nobody had needed him to finish. Both men present knew he’d meant to say ‘she looked dead,’ and he wouldn’
t have been wrong.
A maelstrom of emotions tore through Laker’s body, his mind trying to reconcile the image of the bouncy, curly-haired livewire he once knew, with the sombre, mostly-silent young woman who’d pushed everything to the side to be strong for Grace. For the young man, the worst thing he could say he’d lived through was the death of his childhood pet, so it was difficult for him to place the emotions currently pulling at him left, right, and centre.
Reaching up to turn his cap so the bill was to the back of his head, Laker tugged at his Henley, undoing the top two buttons in an attempt to feel less claustrophobic. Is this how Indie feels when she has a panic attack? he wondered, turning to face the opening doors. Peter growled an angry breath, his chest rising and falling heavily.
“Is she okay?” Laker rasped through a tight throat.
“As well as can be expected, I guess.” The distressed dad yanked at his hair, scrubbing his face roughly. “God, I hate this! I hate this!”
Before Laker could move to stop him, Peter spun, slamming his fist into the ‘smoking area’ sign. Thankfully for Peter’s hand, the sign was hanging, so it simply cracked and fell to the ground instead of shattering his knuckles—though, as Laker grappled him against the wall he spotted trickles of blood on Peter’s pale skin.
“Calm down! Cazzo, do you think Grace needs this? Shit, Pete.”
In all the years Laker had known Peter, he’d never seen him this out of sorts. Especially not angry enough to hit something. The man’s eyes were wide, unseeing for a long moment as Laker held him to the wall with his fists clenched in Peter’s polo shirt and pressed against the top of his chest to hold him still. Laker felt the moment the fight drained out of Peter’s body; his eyes slid shut, his body slumping as a lone tear trickled over his cheek.
“Sorry,” he breathed slowly. “I’m sorry, Laker. I can’t even…seeing her like that…she’s so broken. I didn’t even realise how much.”
The anguish Laker saw in Peter’s light brown eyes when he re-opened them was enough to make him wince. At twenty-six years old, he had no children, nor was he in any rush to have them, but gazing at Peter’s face, he could clearly see the great amount of pain he was in from witnessing his daughter giving her statement.
In the past two hours, he’d obviously heard things that, as a father, he never thought he’d have to hear. The things Grace had seen, been told, how she’d been treated. Having visited as many times as his busy career allowed, Laker had been privy to more than one breakdown, but he could tell this wasn’t the same. It was on a completely different scale. Laker couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain Peter must be in after seeing his daughter reliving her ordeal, considering how hard even he was finding it seeing Indie and Grace suffer.
A dark head of hair and sad, resigned eyes peeked around the door five minutes later to find Peter and Laker almost at the end of their second cigarettes. Archie gulped, looking between his uncle and best friend. “Uh, Indie’s goin’ in. Dad told me to come tell you, so…”
“Of course.” Peter, now slightly more in control of his emotions, dropped the stick to the ground before stubbing it out and following his nephew, for all intents and purposes, inside. Laker hesitated for a moment, heaving in a deep breath as he stepped through the doors. The silent trio rounded the final corner just in time to see Indie entering the room Grace recently vacated; Reagan stared after her with trepidation.
Laker tightened his spine, adjusted his hat, and let his feet carry him into the observation room with Reagan and Archie. He’d agreed only after Archie and Reagan had begged, both of them wanting the reassurance that he’d help calm them if they couldn’t handle it.
He was determined to do his best, even if that did mean forcing himself to listen to what would likely be one of the hardest, most gut-wrenching conversations he’d ever have to hear.
chapter twenty
Leaning over the rubbish bin, Laker emptied his stomach of his breakfast. Snippets of Indie’s statement played on a loop in his mind; nothing and nobody could stop Laker listening to it over and over, bile burning his throat as tears soaked his beard.
Riley had asked Indie if she understood that she needed to tell the truth and give as much detail as she could, and that’s when the torture began.
“Dad and Uncle Pete let us walk home by ourselves that day because the twins were sick and needed picking up from nursery, and Archie was at school late for football practice. We’d done it lots of times before, but usually we were with friends who lived down the street. They were at the dentist, so it was just us—just me and Grace. We didn’t hear the van coming, but they stopped before we realised they were there, grabbed us, and stopped us from screaming.”
“How did they stop you screaming, Indie?”
“They held us really tight and put their hands over our mouths. Garrett grabbed me, and another guy took Grace.”
She’d described the other man with a dull look on her face, only speaking again when Riley prompted her by asking what had happened in the van.
“I think he drugged us. He put these towels over our mouths, and…they smelled, weird? I don’t know how to describe it. Like cleaning fluid, maybe? But not as strong. It made us sleep. We didn’t wake up until we were at the ranch. So, I guess, we must have slept a really long time, to get to another country without waking up.”
Indie had needed a few minutes then to regroup, her eyes cloudy with memories. It was worse when she started talking again in the same monotone voice. She looked detached. It was unnerving.
“Do you know how you got from England to America, Indie?” Riley asked. He had theories that he’d shared with the families as much as possible, but it was still high on the list of things the FBI wanted to ascertain.
“I’m not sure. I know G-Garrett has a helicopter, so maybe he used that? I don’t know…I don’t know how far that flies. He always made a point of mentioning how many contacts he had, so I guess somebody helped him.”
Riley nodded, murmuring that he’d figured as much. “All right. What happened when you got to the ranch?”
“When I woke up, I was in the study on my own. I didn’t know where Grace was until after Garrett had told me what we had to do. He, um, he said we had to pretend we were his daughters, and that we were twins. He didn’t want people to ask questions about why we looked so similar in age, I guess.”
Reagan had almost lost it when he’d heard his daughter had been forced to call Garrett Smith ‘Dad’ to keep up the act. For the second time in a short while, Laker had calmed a raging father, only this time he had Archie’s help, too.
“I tried to comfort Grace as much as I could,” she’d paused, looking up towards the window. She was aware her dad was behind it, though she didn’t know Archie and Laker were there, too.
“I tried to be strong, like my dad always told us. We both did—we both tried to be brave. But we were terrified. We kept waiting for somebody to come and get us, so we didn’t eat the food or water someone kept putting inside the door while we were sleeping. I suppose whatever drugs they’d used for the trip probably didn’t help. We were both sick a lot, those first few days. And then, nobody came. Nobody came to rescue us, and we had to figure out how to survive.”
Laker’s body shuddered, the sound of Indie’s choked sobs fresh in his mind. It was the only sound she’d made belying her true emotions in the entire two hours. The rest of her recount had been relayed in a frighteningly numb tone; eyes murky like the English Channel, body rigid against the back of the armchair. Hearing how she and Grace had denied themselves food or water for two whole days because they were waiting for someone to save them had torn everyone to shreds. Reagan had slumped against the far wall in desolation, guilt, and pain for his daughter and niece. Archie’s reaction was similar. The image of eight-year-old Indie and Grace curled up together on a bed in a strange country, the remnants of some kind of sedatives in their systems, was devastating.
The group—Laker, Archie, Reagan, and
the police officer—listened with morbid, horrified fascination as Indie detailed the first couple of years of their time in Montana. Archie growled as she blankly explained the incident that led to her first visit to the study. Laker’s stomach heaved harshly as he recalled her words.
“It was stupid, really. Me and Grace were in the kitchen, and Garrett came in, wanting some coffee. He told Grace to make it, but she didn’t have the hang of the machine yet so I figured I’d do it. I thought he’d be angrier if she did it wrong than if I just did it myself. But he was so, so mad when he realised I’d done it. He pulled me by my arm…” Indie reached up, demonstrating the hold he’d had on her upper arm, squeezing hard as she remembered; as she felt the phantom grip of his hand around her. “He pulled me to the study and sent Grace to our room.”
“What happened when you were in the study, Indie?”
“He hit me.” Shaking badly, she held her hands out, palms up. “Here. He hit me here. With a wooden ruler.” Inhaling a deep breath, she winced, adding, “And he stamped on my f-foot in his steel toe cap boots. He did that a lot, actually. I think it’s because it was easily explained. I could just say I’d twisted it or something. It was easy to hide. He said that if he ever caught me doing things he’d asked Grace to do again, it would be a much worse punishment.”
It hadn’t just been Archie and Reagan who’d needed restraining when Riley forced himself to ask, through gritted teeth, if that had been the only time he’d hurt her—Indie’s answer had been to scoff and reply ‘no, that was just the first of many times.’ The officer in the room was more observant than the three men had thought, calling for backup while they were distracted by Indie talking, so when they tried to burst from the room to end the session, they’d been met with Riley’s two large guards on the other side of the door. The pair formed an unbreakable resistance with their combined strength and had corralled Reagan, Archie, and Laker back into the observation room swiftly, extracting their agreement that if listening became too much, they would have to leave under escort. Unbeknownst to her dad, brother, and friend, Indie had made Riley promise not to let them intervene. The only way she’d be leaving the room early was if she couldn’t handle it, or if Marley desperately needed her. So far, she’d been utilising her ability to numb herself.