Pinky Promises (The Promises #1)

by Ciara Shayee

  “Please tell us about your day-to-day routine, Indie.”

  “After we woke up and got dressed, we would always have to go downstairs and make breakfast for everybody. Sometimes we were told what to make, but most of the time we had to just choose and hope we wouldn’t get told off.”

  “Who told you off, Indie?”

  “G-Garrett. Garrett told us off if we chose wrong.”

  “All right. After breakfast…”

  “We’d clean up the kitchen and all the plates, cutlery, whatever we’d used, basically. Then we had our chores to do.”

  “Okay. What sort of chores?”

  “Household stuff, mainly. Laundry, cleaning, mending clothes if any of the guys had torn their work shirts or trousers. Umm, we got to help in the stables sometimes. Just brushing the horses or cleaning the stalls and tack.”

  “So, you were allowed in the barn? Did you ever venture further away than that?”

  Indie shuddered. “Once. Not on purpose. Marley wandered off looking for the horses in the paddock, so we went after her. And we never tried again. Garrett caught us on one of the cameras around the ranch and h-he wasn’t ha-happy.” Knowing Riley would ask what had happened, Indie sucked in a deep breath and continued without him having to prompt her. “He took me to his study, and made me repeat the same phrase over and over. He…he hit me. On my back, with his belt. And he hit my leg, too, but that was with his ha-hand.”

  It’s odd, where a person’s mind can wander when they’re trying not to think about what is happening to them. When they’re trying to ignore the bite of leather against their skin, the sting of a calloused palm on their leg. Over and over and over, a mind can switch off to the pain while remembering the happiness of a previous life. Of a life left behind.

  Well, not left behind. Stolen.

  Indie coughed. “He made me say ‘This is home, and I love my home’.”

  The door of the bathroom clicking open caught Laker’s attention; he turned his head with a grimace. Archie looked as wretched as he felt, fists tight in his mop of dark hair, eyes red-rimmed with the pain of hearing how his little sisters had suffered. Neither man knew what to say in the face of such agonising words. Of course, they’d known it would be hard, listening to Indie’s in-depth recount of the past twelve years, but they hadn’t factored in how it would be to hear the words fall from her lips, to hear the numb voice Grace had come to know so well.

  They’d had more bad news when Riley admitted they hadn’t been able to get anything from the cameras on the ranch. Most were burnt out, but the few they’d salvaged revealed nothing of consequence.

  Frustratingly, the one room not covered by cameras was the study—which happened to be the one area of the whole ranch the agents were most keen to see. Well…partly, anyway. With Indie’s and Grace’s testimonies, they knew enough to be confident they really didn’t want to see anything that had gone on in that room.

  The only very slight upside to the longer sessions by both girls was that they’d probably only need three days, instead of the expected four. Indie had originally planned to try and get her entire statement out in one go, but she’d found herself struggling when she neared Marley’s conception. She couldn’t stand being unable to see her daughter, so she’d cut the session short. It frustrated her, but she couldn’t quell the voice in the back of her head that she needed Marley; needed to feel her warmth and see her sweet smile.

  “Indie with Grace?” Laker asked. His voice was raspy, so he moved to the sink to wash his mouth out with water.

  “Ye—” Archie coughed to clear his throat, then tried again. “Yeah. Dad and Pete are with Riley. Marley woke up, but she’s okay playing with that dollhouse.”

  Mouth now thoroughly rinsed, Laker turned to lean against the counter while shifting his hat from hand to hand. Archie scowled at the floor, eyes filled with tears. “You okay, man?” He nodded at the bin.

  Laker’s ears tinted red at being caught throwing up. “Milk in the coffee didn’t agree with me.”

  Both men knew it wasn’t the milk turning their stomachs, but neither would say it. They’d keep hold of some pride, at least.

  ~ oOo ~

  As Indie staggered back into the waiting room, Grace swept her into her arms and cried soundlessly into Indie’s hoodie-clad shoulder. The pair wrapped their arms around each other, as though afraid if they loosened their grip they would be swept away.

  Having had a couple of hours to compose herself as much as possible, Grace managed to keep some of her emotions in check, whereas Indie, fresh from recounting the first years of the worst twelve of her life, fought flashbacks and panic attacks, her mind flushed with long-buried memories. For a long time, she hadn’t had to think about her first two or three years on the ranch. She hadn’t needed or even tried to recall that awful first assault or the way Garrett Smith had spat his threats warning her that if the ranch hands found out where she and Grace had come from, he would harm their families.

  As soon as the days passed, Indie pushed them from her mind in an attempt to protect herself. Now, those actions were coming back to bite her as she had to sift through memory upon memory of spirit-breaking hit after hit, curse after curse. Logically, she understood the authorities needed to know which laws had been broken. However, knowing it and liking it were two very different things.

  Finding herself crushed at the thought of returning to the station tomorrow, Indie had to jam her lips shut to stop herself from begging Reagan not to make her. She knew he’d support her, which was why she refused to ask. Though the idea of the gruelling days ahead terrified her, the idea of Garrett Smith walking free because she couldn’t be brave enough to give a statement was abhorrent. As miserable as she was, Indie couldn’t bring herself to plead, knowing that her dad would do whatever she asked. Not to mention the fact that Grace would be facing the same ordeal and would likely need her, just as she had earlier.

  “I-Indie?” Grace whispered, her throat clogged with tears.

  Indie’s responding nod was jerky.

  “W-will you, say your thing?”

  Without her having to go into further detail, Indie knew exactly what she meant. She inhaled a deep but shaky breath, pulling back a little to clasp her sister’s face in her small, trembling hands. “It’s all right, Grace, you’re okay. You’re with me, and you’re just fine. We’re going home to help with lunch, then we’re going to spend some time with our family before we go to sleep. We’re safe. You hear me, Grace?”

  The words were slightly different, of course, but similar to those Indie had spoken to Grace what felt like a lifetime ago, that cold January day in Montana—the day everything began to fall apart.

  It was the day the girls were told about the two new ranch hands, Paul and Lola. Of course, the girls hadn’t known then that those two new arrivals were the catalyst to their escape. How could they? Only now that they were home had they been told Paul and Lola’s real identities. They were two of the FBI’s finest, most well-respected and talented agents. Though it was close to five months since that chilly day, Indie and Grace felt as though it had been forever. The symbolism of the words Grace asked Indie to speak wasn’t lost on either of them.

  “I…I hear you, Indie.” Grace’s lips curled into the shakiest of smiles, the confidence she felt swirling in her stomach courtesy of the determination she could see in Indie’s ocean-like eyes.

  ~ oOo ~

  Hours later, the entire clan—Reagan, Peter, the girls, Laker, Archie, Heidi, Pippa, Carl-Roman, Chase, and Marley— gathered to watch the TV. The six o’clock news had an entire segment on the girls’ disappearance and rescue, showing snippets of the conference back in March of 2004. They also showed images of Southern Road cordoned off, as it had been for days after the abduction, and the red van the police later discovered, scorched and free of evidence, on an industrial estate. Then, they showed images from earlier that day; of the group arriving at, and leaving, the police station. As the presenter spoke about
stats and figures relating to other kidnapping cases, they watched themselves hurrying from the cars back into their houses.

  From his spot in the window seat, with Marley happily ensconced in his lap playing silently with Mr. Bunny, Laker’s eyes routinely flickered between everybody’s face, finally landing on Indie. She looked exceptionally pale in the almost-blue light of the TV. Two, large round eyes rimmed with red stared unseeingly at the screen as the broadcaster detailed what they assumed her life had been like, speculating about the twelve-year gap of which they currently had no knowledge.

  That was all about to change, though, because the girls had given Riley permission to share the bare minimum to spread the word that Garrett Smith was out there and dangerous. He gave them the chance to opt out of giving details, but with the knowledge that the search was already at another standstill, they’d unanimously decided to get it over with. Everyone was aware, no matter how much they hated it, that sooner or later people were going to find out what went on in the time since their abduction. It was inevitable, so if sharing some details now helped the case, helped them to find Garrett Smith, Indie and Grace were keen to get it done.

  The only thing Indie had put her foot down on was Marley. She was adamant that she not be mentioned. It was enough that she was being thrust into the spotlight alongside her mother and auntie, without having the press hone in on her and where she’d come from.

  Riley had agreed, so they were all doing their best to keep Marley away from the windows as much as possible. Laker had drawn the curtains when he took her to sit on the window seat, and she’d been happy enough just being with him to not mention it.

  The group watched as Riley strolled out of the police station flanked by Rodriguez and his other, equally enormous and intimidating, agent—Frederickson—to the podium. A cluster of microphones had been arranged almost like a bunch of flowers at the top, so the gathered news outlets could hear what he was saying.

  Silence blanketed the living room, everyone seeming to take in a breath and hold it as Riley cleared his throat and introduced himself.

  “I am here on behalf of Indie Ashby and Grace Davies, the girls who were abducted in February two-thousand-four, and who have now been reunited with their families and friends. They have asked me to express their gratitude to all those involved in the search and in supporting their loved ones throughout their ordeal. I am also here to ask that you be on the look-out for the man responsible for their abduction and subsequent captivity.” He then paused with a hard blink, which the girls knew was their cue to look away. “Garrett Smith. He’s fifty-five years old with grey-brown hair, standing at around six-feet tall with hazel eyes.”

  Everyone saw the way Riley’s entire body tensed in preparation for imparting some of his newly-acquired knowledge to the world, and his voice was cold as ice when he began. “Indie Ashby and Grace Davies were taken by force in a van, before being flown to the USA where they were held captive, physically and emotionally abused over a series of twelve years. Through sheer bravery, they managed to escape and find help. Garrett Smith is an extremely dangerous man, and I beg you not to approach him if you see him. Call the number below, or contact your nearest police department. I assure you, we’re doing everything possible to keep you all safe from this man.”

  Laker’s eyes found the girls; they’d quivered against each other on the sofa as Riley described their tormentor, warning the public against approaching. His stomach rolled when a picture of Garrett Smith appeared on-screen alongside Riley, who moved on to request privacy for the girls and their families in this stressful, but relief-filled, time.

  As soon as the segment was over, Reagan switched off the TV. Hovering in the doorway, he was unsure what he should do. His entire body burned with hatred for the man whose face had just filled half of his TV screen, the mere sight of him enough to ignite his ire.

  Laker eyed him. He was about to erupt. He carefully set Marley on the sofa and gestured to Archie. They ushered Reagan into the kitchen where he yanked at the top buttons of his black shirt. He used too much force, sending one flying through the air before bouncing off the wall and resting on the tiled floor. Calloused hands tugged at scruffy blond curls in an angry attempt to feel something other than complete despair or anger.

  “How do I help her? How do we help both of them?”

  The image of Indie and Grace tucking their faces into each other’s necks to stop themselves having to see the vile face on the screen burned Archie’s mind as he grimaced. He hated that he didn’t know what to do, but knew he needed to step up and do something to stop this family from collapsing.

  Two eight-year-olds pranced about in fairy dresses with ribbons in their lopsided pigtails, gap-toothed grins and cheeky, mischievous eyes. His memory captured all the details in high definition, despite the twelve lost years between then and now. Like a gauzy layer of film, the images of Indie and Grace as they were now blanketed the old memories. They smothered them until all Archie could picture was the numbing cloak Indie wore to protect herself, and Grace’s soaked cheeks as she cried for the chance to live the normal life she and Indie had had snatched from them.

  He didn’t know how to help, but he’d do everything in his power to make this family whole again.

  ~ oOo ~

  The second day of statements was worse.

  They’d gotten to the time of Marley’s conception. Despite having already explained it to Megan back at the safe house, Indie had to put it in writing as part of her statement. With Laker and Reagan watching from the observation room, Archie taking care of Carl-Roman at home as he’d fallen ill with a stomach bug overnight, Indie had described Marcus Lucien in vivid detail, his actions, and the little information she knew about his background. Reagan sobbed when he watched her frown as she remembered the day she’d discovered she was pregnant, just fifteen years old and forced to watch as Garrett Smith made an example of Marcus, shooting him right in front of her, Grace, and the rest of the ranch hands.

  “When I was pregnant…he just ignored me. He didn’t take me to his study or anything, just pretended I wasn’t there. Except for one day near the end, he…he said ‘You disgust me.’ That was it. He didn’t speak to me again until after Marley was born.”

  “He wouldn’t let me have any medicine or go to a doctor. I was so scared something was wrong with Marley. She didn’t move very much for about a week before I had her, but nothing me or Grace said to him made any difference. Neither of us had any idea what to do…literally no idea. The guys brought us back some baby supplies after their last supply run, including some books. They were mostly pregnancy related but one of them had a small section about the actual labour part. We just had to wing it, basically. The book didn’t cover everything, but without it I honestly don’t know what would have happened to me and Marley. Grace had to help me breathe and encourage me to push, like the book said, and then she had to check for the umbilical cord around her neck and remember to cut it. The placenta…” Indie winced. “We buried it outside. Garrett wouldn’t help us, and we just didn’t know what else to do with it, so we buried it behind the house.”

  “When Marley was born, she was so, so tiny.”

  A nostalgic look had crossed Indie’s face; the smallest of smiles playing on her lips. She both loved and hated remembering those early days with Marley. She’d been so terrified her baby was sick or too small. Absolutely scared witless that she wouldn’t be enough, that she couldn’t be a good mother because of their situation and her age.

  But she’d risen to the occasion and settled into motherhood slowly. As baby Marley had grown, so had Indie’s confidence in her abilities to take care of her. After all, she’d been mothering Grace all their lives.

  “When she was about six weeks old, she smiled at me for the first time. I don’t even know why, I was just talking to her by the fire, and she gave me this proper smile. Not a gassy one. A proper, real smile. Because she wanted to and not just out of reflex.”

  Nobody
missed the way her hands twitched in her lap, towards her stomach. It wasn’t visible in the large hoodie she was wearing, but a tiny bump had become apparent, the baby within growing steadily.

  “I think it was that day I realised how lucky I was that we both made it without any real complications.”

  She moved on to speak about the next couple of years, and despite everyone’s curiosity regarding the paternity of her unborn baby, no one dared interfere. She’d get there eventually.

  “Did you ever see Garrett doing anything illegal, Indie? Aside from your abuse and your abduction, and Marcus Lucien’s murder.”

  Indie winced at the mention of Marley’s biological father, then thought hard about Riley’s question, her brows furrowed. “I don’t…um, I don’t think so. He was very private. He kept everything in his office, and to be honest, when he was on the ranch he spent pretty much all of his time in there, too. All his phone calls were taken in his study, and he never had visitors.”

  “Did you ever see any mail arrive at the ranch? Take any phone calls?”

  “No, never. The only phone was in his study. Some of the guys—the ranch hands—had their own phones, though. I overheard some stuff. Not often, and it was mostly back when Marley was a newborn. When I’d go down to prepare her bottles, sometimes he would be talking loud enough that I could hear him.”