Phoebe: Book One of Broken Girls Series

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  “Ryker…” Max rumbled in warning.

  “No, bro’. Either you trust me or you don’t.” Ryker shook with anger they were going over the fucking subject again all because he wanted to live on his own, to make his own way. He hadn’t yet told Phoebe where he lived because he was so goddamn ashamed to admit he still lived with his goddamn mother. And especially for the reason behind the ‘why’ of it. “So which is it? Am I just another BI employee or am I your brother? Because you can’t tell a mother-fucking employee where to live.”

  “We’re just looking out for you, little man,” Cruz muttered. “Things changed when you were in prison. Life moved on and nothing is like it was before.”

  “No shit,” Ryker breathed with a head shake, exasperated neither man understood him. “Things did change and I grew up without having you two to help. Which sucks because I fucking needed you every goddamn day I was on the inside. But I learned to stand on my own two feet, facing more motherfucking shit I hope neither one of you ever has to see, much less experience in the whole of your lives. The fact remains though, I got through it. All. On. My. Own.”

  Ryker had their complete attention and made full use of it. “And I’m sorry I was the reason Ma had to quit her job, that some of the family decided we aren’t good enough for them and why no one wants me around an unsupervised computer, but I don’t know how to fix any of that.”

  He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “All I know is either you trust me or you don’t. And by trust I mean giving me the goddamn space to live my own life, with the girl of my fucking choice as I work my ass off to do the job you dogged me to take.”

  Max shoved his hands into his pockets while dropping his eyes to the floor. Ryker only hoped it was because the he was considering Ryker’s words instead of feeling guilty. Actually, there’d been too few times he’d challenged his brothers. And this last time shocked him as much as it had them.

  “Okay.” It was Cruz, fucking Cruz who was the first to cave, to offer the branch of peace in the tense silence of the room.

  All Max did was nod, before he opened the door, not giving Ryker even a backward glance as he exited.

  “But still dunno about you moving. ‘Cause I fucking hate doing yard work,” Cruz uttered, as he left Ryker’s space. “Having you at Ma’s means we don’t have to deal with that shit.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Diana had the back door open and was standing on the porch before I even got out of my car. “There you are. I wondered if you were going to make it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I didn’t know why she would ask me that question since I thought I’d been pretty clear about what time I was coming in our earlier phone call. Okay, it was closer to two than one, but I hadn’t set an exact time. I’d only said I’d be over after one. Although, typically (read: prior to having a smoking-hot boyfriend) when I agreed to meet someone I was very precise regarding the time and extremely diligent in sticking to it. Despite the fact I’d originally said I’d be over to retrieve my package a few days before.

  I dropped my eyes to look at my feet as I maneuvered the stairs, feeling the tell-tale heat of a blush creeping up my neck at the thought of why I was late. But after Ryker took an early lunch, we’d somehow ended up back in bed. “Yeah. Well...”

  “You must be busy, or should I say, getting busy,” she giggled, holding the door open as I entered the kitchen.

  I winced as I passed by, refusing to meet her eyes. “Yeah. Well…”

  Moving into the large kitchen, allowing myself to remember all the sweet memories it contained, I searched for another topic in order to derail the one we were currently having. “You said I had a box?”

  Diana closed the door behind me and then moved to the coat closet tucked underneath the stairs. “Yes, and I was a little surprised because you didn’t tell me to expect something. I know you’re adding to the stuff in your new apartment bit by bit, but usually you give me a head’s up before something ships.”

  “This is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you,” I replied, taking the narrow box out of her hands and depositing it on the counter. “It’s probably just something I had on backorder and forgot about.”

  Diana picked up her coffee cup from the kitchen table and turned to lean her hips against the countertop by the sink. Her eyes were dancing and her mouth held the ghost of a small, knowing smile. “I just figured they were some new sexy heels you bought to impress your new man. The one I hear who took you home after our girl’s night out.”

  I looked at the package and agreed it was the size and shape of a shoebox even though my mind was still caught up on the word ‘boyfriend’ since that wasn’t something I regularly called Ryker, not even in my head. Sure we were seeing each other but we’d never taken the time to define exactly what it was we were building together. But I gotta say if I were to give him a name, the label of ‘boyfriend’ more than worked for me.

  Reaching for the drawer that held scissors, clippers as well as a box cutter, I shot my eyes Diana’s way, totally ignoring the fact either Vonnie or Beta ratted me out. “I’m not sure Ryker is a shoe kind of guy.”

  “Darling girl, every guy is a shoe kind of guy if it’s the right girl in the right pair of heels!”

  I chaffed at her summation and turned my attention back to the box. It had a standard UPS label on it, with all the appropriate barcodes but I didn’t recognize the return address which listed as a street in Grantham I didn’t know. And having grown up there and the fact that it was a small town that had only recently experienced a housing boom, the fact I didn’t know the street gave me pause. “Have you ever heard of Sutter Lane?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” Diana replied, pouring the rest of her coffee into the sink before she rinsed her cup and placed it in the dishwasher. “But it might be one of the new ones on the east side of the highway. You know, where the new subdivision sprung up?”

  I didn’t give it another thought is I use the box cutter to slice through the edges of the clear shipping tape before turning back the edges of the cardboard. I thought whatever the box contained must be fragile or held some value because it had been carefully packed in both bubble-wrap and tissue paper. So much so it took me more than a few seconds to unwrap it all, and bring Diana to my side in order to see what prize the box held.

  “What is it?” Diane seemed just as curious about the contents as me. I unrolled the bubble wrap and began to tear through the tissue paper trying to keep my movements gentle in case this unknown thing was delicate.

  Finally after I had all the paper off, I peered at what was left in my hands. But I didn’t understand what I was seeing, because to my eye it appeared to be just another box, although this one was made out of wood. I turned it over, shifting it in my hands as I looked at each side until I saw a tiny door complete with hinges and a minuscule doorknob.

  “Wow. Check out that craftsmanship. It looks like something for a dollhouse,” Diana quietly murmured from my side. “Have you taken up a new hobby you haven’t told me about?”

  I shook my head and began to feel the first tingles of uneasiness hit my stomach. I used my thumb and forefinger to touch the doorknob which was no bigger than the head of the pin. Why I didn’t open it immediately I couldn’t say, but there was something about the beautifully rendered door that made me cautious.

  No.

  It made me wary in such a way the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up in attention.

  As if sensing my trepidation, Diana placed a hand on my shoulder and I looked into her worried eyes.

  “I didn’t order this.”

  “Then who do you think it’s from?” Diane’s question held merit because it could be a gift from someone but I couldn’t imagine who, since almost everybody who knew me also knew I’d never had an affinity for dolls or dollhouses not even as a little girl.

  I shook my head and tried to lock down the tendrils of fear creeping up my back. “I don’t know,�
� I whispered on a shaky note.

  Be brave, I told myself before catching the edge of my nail on the miniature doorknob before pulling it up slowly. As the door fell back to rest on its hinges, I caught my breath as my eyes took in the tiny though perfectly crafted hangers and rod denoting the wooden box was actually the representation of a closet.

  Only in this particular tiny closet there was a note.

  One written in red ink that read, ‘Wish you were still here!’

  All the breath in my body leaked out in one exhale and I dropped the box to the counter before I began my escape from the clutches of my fear, to walk backwards, my eyes never wavering from the wooden box and the toxic message it contained. When I was a safe enough distance away I quickly turned and without thinking about anything other than running, of getting away from both it and the threat of the note, I slammed into the wall next to the front door. But as soon as my body came to a full stop, I was quickly encircled by two strong arms, one at my waist and one around my shoulders holding me in place.

  The stuff in my head was screaming so loud, so damned loud and so fast I couldn’t catch the words much less hear and understand the real voice speaking right next to my ear. The voice of the person, who prevented my escape; who was withholding my safety simply by holding me firm.

  “Phoebe? Shh, my lovely,” the voice said so gently and so softly. There was another sound in the room, something high and keening that began to gain my attention. An effort to distract myself from the whirling of my mind, I concentrated on that keening sound, the high wail, only to realize I was the one making that noise. That it was me who sounded like a trapped animal as my former foster-mother tried to calm me.

  As I came back to myself (which took more than a few minutes), I turned in Diana’s arms which never faltered or weakened as I’d twisted and turned, frantic to get away, to get gone. That was until I realized it was her, the mother of my heart who was offering comfort. She held me as close and as tightly to her as two bodies could get even as she crooned my name and encouraging, calming words over and over again.

  “Don’t let them get me,” I pleaded as turned in her embrace, shoving my face into her neck, inhaling her Lily of the Valley scent as my arms wrapped around her in a fierce hug. “Please don’t let him put me in the closet. I’ll be good, I promise. Just don’t let him put me in the closet again.”

  I don’t know how she responded, not her exact words anyway, but I was aware of the safety and protection she providing using nothing more than a firm embrace as she rocked me from side to side, much like she’d done in my early years with her. When I’d first come to her house and I’d awaken, sometimes multiple times a night, from my nightmares of being locked in a cold, dark place, in pain and alone.

  Just as she had been there for me during those early times, Diana was there for me now even as the memories of the abuse my younger-self suffered at the hands of Marcy and Davis Sloan rose up within me. And, as I had done as a young girl when those terrifying memories hit, I buried my face in Diana’s neck, closing my eyes against my fear, absorbing her consolation and solace.

  It felt like hours later, hours Diana held me before I heard Carmen’s voice, which was accompanied by a long caress along my back. “Phoebe? Pretty girl, do you want to sit down now?”

  I turned my head to look at my former caseworker.

  “Why don’t you and I go sit in the living room and talk about this?”

  I allowed my arms to drop from around Diane and I found myself following Carmen to the couch, heavily concentrating on putting one step in front of the other. I felt weak, shaky and sick to my stomach, much like I’d felt during my massive hangover. Though this time, the sickness I felt had to do with terror, not alcohol.

  And make no mistake, I was terrified.

  Somehow and in some way Sloan Davis had determined the very best way to take me back in time, and reduce me to the small child he’d laughingly bullied, had terrorized for no other reason than for his own twisted amusement.

  “Okay, I realize you’re really freaked out at the moment. But Phoebe, we’ve got to get the police involved, so I asked Diana to call GPD and you’re gonna have to make a statement when the police get here.” She sighed and used her hand on my chin, moving my head until our eyes met. “It’s time, honey. Time for you to get it all out in the open so that sweet, little girl living inside you can finally find some peace.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, feeling my chin tremble as I did so.

  Her beautiful dark brown eyes searched mine. “Are you with me?”

  I blinked as I thought. Perhaps she was right. Maybe it was time to let out all the dark places inside the younger version of myself tried to hide. But would exposing my fears, talking through my past really help heal me? I wasn’t sure.

  I was, however, willing to try.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Here, lovely girl,” Diana said, handing me a steaming cup as Carmen tucked an afghan around my shoulders. My body was still reacting to the package, feeling so cold I was shivering, my teeth chattering loud enough to be heard. “It’s just chamomile, but I gave it a slug of bourbon thinking one or the other might warm you up.”

  Officer Matthews had already arrived and had taken my statement although he’d had to ask me to repeat myself a few times as I tripped over my words due to all the emotions roiling inside. He’d also examined the box and all the wrappings, moving them around with the end of his pen before deciding to call for GPD’s detectives.

  “I’m going to go meet the boys at the bus stop,” Diana continued referring to the new group of kids she was currently fostering, who were a rowdy bunch in the best of times. “I’ll take them out for an early dinner so you can talk to the police without interruption.”

  I took a sip from the cup as I nodded. “Thanks.”

  Carmen and Diana shared a worried glance, one I was used to seeing back in the day and I felt bad for making them do it now.

  Diana stooped down next to where I sat and stared into my eyes. “Are you going to be all right, Phoebe?”

  I nodded, unwilling to out and out lie to her verbally.

  A sharp rap of the front door had all of us looking to it as Officer Matthews poked his head in. “Trusdale and Bell just pulled up. I’m gonna talk with them for a minute then send them in, okay?”

  Carmen answered with, “That’d be great, thanks.”

  Diana stood and after patting my knee, announced, “I’m off. Call me if you need me, darling one. Day or night, call me if there’s a need. Love you.”

  “I will. Love you back.” I mumbled, bending my lips back to my cup. I wanted to say more, to thank her for her help, for the way she’d’ held me together when I had been flying apart as well as for the many, many times she’d been there for me throughout my life.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not with the vestiges of terror still holding me hostage from within.

  “Do you want to talk with the detectives alone?” I turned to look at Carmen before shooting my eyes to the door. “I can go in the kitchen or backyard if you’d rather talk to them by yourself.”

  I shook my head just as the large front door swung open and two men dressed in suits appeared.

  “Phoebe Marquette?” The younger of the two men asked, their eyes shifting from Carmen to me. “I’m Detective Tim Bell and this is Detective Jeff Trusdale. We heard you’ve had a situation.”

  I started to nod but decided it was time to actually speak again. “Yes.” But that was all I could manage to choke out.

  “Nice to see you again, Tim,” Carmen offered into the silence of the room. “Jeff, how’s the family?”

  Detective Trusdale moved forward to one of the easy chairs on the edge of the room. “Good, Carmen thanks for asking. Okay if we sit?”

  “Matthews gave us a brief,” Tim Bell started, looking down at the small spiral-edged notebook in his hand as he seated himself on the loveseat. “But we’d like to hear it from you, if you don’t
mind.”

  The second retelling of me opening the package went much smoother and faster than the first. While Detective Bell scribbled on his notepad, I saw Detective Trusdale leaning forward, studying me as I spoke. Every so often, one or the other of them glanced at Carmen.

  At the end of my recitation, they shared a long silent look that convinced me they were communicating nonverbally, just as my landlords had done on the first day in my new apartment.

  Detective Trusdale stood while mumbling, “I’ll call Patel and get him right on it,” as he let himself out the door.

  The other detective shifted in his seat as he turned to look into the kitchen which I assumed was in order to see the detritus of the package and the wooden box. Turning back, he directed his attention to my former social worker. “I’m thinking there’s a hell of a lot more to this than just a package, which might be enough for an EOP but Judge Garfalo is going to need more info in order to consider either a TOP or POP.”

  I didn’t like him speaking in abbreviations I didn’t know. And it must’ve shown because Carmen reached for my hand before explaining. “An EOP is an Emergency Order of Protection the police can request when they feel there’s a need. And a TOP stands for Temporary Order of Protection, which is more involved and can be issued even if the abuse or threats happened to you a while ago. A POP just means a Permanent Order of Protection.”

  I struggled to keep up. “What’s an Order of Protection?”

  “A fancy legal name to tell whoever is bothering you to stop.” Detective Bell sat back in his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. “The TOP and POP needs to be formally filed with the court and include an Incident Checklist of all contacts you’ve received from this guy.”

  “I’ve got more than enough evidence,” Carmen assured him. “My biggest concern is going to be serving the paperwork to the asshole. As far as I know, we don’t know where he went after being released from prison. Which was what? Three weeks ago?”