Ryan Lock Series Box Set 2

by Sean Black

  “Is that true?” said Chris.

  Taking a deep breath, Ruth decided she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Is it true that I said it or true that my mom’s a crazy bitch who sent me here to get back at my father?”

  A smile played at the corner of Chris’s mouth. In the flickering light from the fire it made him look even more sinister. He gave a little nod.

  “They’re both true,” said Ruth. “I said it, and I believe it, because it’s true.”

  She returned his smirk. If she was going to be the new villain, then she planned on playing the role properly. They could say what they wanted about her. None of them knew her. She would let whatever they said wash over her. Even they didn’t believe half the things they said. They only said them because it was what was expected, or because it would save them from being bullied. And that’s what this was. Bullying. Not therapy. Not trying to help people confront their behavior.

  One of the others tried to jump in. Chris held up his hand to silence them. “I have a feeling there’s nothing I could say now to persuade you that your mom did this for your own good. Is that fair?”

  Chris’s response wrong-footed her. She’d thought he’d attack her. It was another trap. It had to be.

  “Yes, that’s fair,” Ruth said. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

  “So, we can be fair sometimes,” Chris said, with a smile.

  Rachel shot him a look that suggested she didn’t like him going easy on Ruth. Maybe she thought he was giving Ruth special treatment. Special treatment that was usually reserved for her.

  Ruth didn’t say anything.

  Chris stood up. “That was productive. Let’s leave it there for tonight.”

  The girls exchanged glances. Some looked crestfallen. Ruth had stood up to Chris and he’d let her. There hadn’t been any punishment. He’d let it go.

  “Back to your dorm,” he said.

  “Yes, Father,” the girls chorused.

  Ruth didn’t join in. Chris ignored that too. He walked away from the group.

  Rachel stood up. She was giving Ruth daggers. “You heard him.”

  They formed up into a line. As Rachel walked past Ruth, she whispered, “I know what you were doing there. Don’t think you’re going to get away with it.”

  18

  They walked back to their dorm room in silence. Once they got inside, the atmosphere was muted. One of the girls went over to Abby and gave her a hug. Rachel shot them a filthy look.

  A few of the girls began to chat among themselves. Again they kept their voices low so Ruth couldn’t hear what they were saying. They didn’t look at her. They didn’t speak.

  Ruth got changed into the pajamas that had been provided. A few of the others were doing the same. It was only then that she remembered she didn’t have any toothpaste. She walked over to where Mary was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes open. “Hey, do you have any toothpaste I could use? I’ll give you it back when I get my own.”

  Mary didn’t look at her, just kept staring.

  “Hey,” said Ruth.

  Mary rolled over onto her side so that her back was to Ruth. Ruth took the hint. She guessed that talking back to Chris like that hadn’t made her very popular. Or maybe Mary just didn’t want to be associated with someone who was a troublemaker. That was understandable, especially if you were already vulnerable, like Mary was.

  She walked into the bathroom. One of the other girls, whose name she didn’t know, had just finished brushing her teeth. She still had her tube of toothpaste in her hand.

  “Can I have a squeeze of your toothpaste?”

  The girl looked at her, grabbed her tube and walked away.

  Whatever. Ruth brushed as best she could with just water. She rinsed her mouth, washed her face and headed to her mattress. She lay down on her back. She could get toothpaste from someone tomorrow. No doubt tomorrow would bring a different drama. Someone else would be in the spotlight. Things would move on.

  Around her the other girls were getting into bed. A few minutes later the lights went out. A full moon bathed the room in a soft white glow. The bed wasn’t as uncomfortable as it looked. Plus, she was tired. She fell asleep quickly.

  * * *

  Ruth woke to water splashing across her face. Her eyes opened. It took her a moment to orientate herself. Even with her face and hair soaking wet, she was still trapped somewhere in the zone between being completely asleep and awake.

  A hand slapping her face bridged the gap. She looked up to see Rachel standing over her. Ruth tried to get up but she couldn’t move her legs. She glanced down as best she could to see two girls sitting at the bottom of the bed, holding them down.

  She tried to sit up. Hands pushed down on her chest, forcing her back onto the bed. Someone on either side grabbed her wrists so that she couldn’t raise her arms. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t move. There were just too many of them.

  Looming over her was Rachel. Ruth caught a flash of metal in Rachel’s right hand. A pair of scissors.

  “You even think about screaming and it’ll be more than your hair getting cut, Price.”

  “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “You’re a troublemaker, Price. Everyone here can see it. You have been since you arrived.”

  The scissors disappeared from Ruth’s sight. There was a snipping sound and Rachel held up a lock of hair.

  Ruth thrashed her head from side to side. More hands emerged from the darkness. They pressed against her neck and skull, holding her head in place.

  Rachel kept cutting. Ruth closed her eyes, fighting back tears of rage and humiliation. It was no use. The tears came. She couldn’t stop them.

  When Rachel had finished, they relaxed their grip. The others melted back to their beds. Rachel stood over her, the scissors still in her hand. She stared at Ruth, assessing her handiwork.

  “Huh, I didn’t think it was possible for you to look even more dykey, Price, but it really is.”

  Ruth’s fists clenched with rage. She had never wanted to hurt someone as badly as she wanted to hurt Rachel. But now wasn’t the time. Not when Rachel still had a pair of scissors in her hand, and wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

  “If anyone asks, this was your idea. You even think about telling any of the staff what happened and I promise you’ll regret it. This was just a little taste of what happens to people at Broken Ridge who don’t get with the program. You understand me?”

  Ruth stared at her. When she’d arrived, Ruth had assumed that this was just like high school, but on steroids. Rachel was the mean girl with the band of followers, all of them desperate to curry favor so that they didn’t become a victim.

  Ruth had been wrong. Looking into Rachel’s eyes, she now saw something else. It was something a lot more frightening, and dangerous. Rachel wasn’t just mean, or a bully, it went beyond that. Rachel was broken. Whatever quality that made someone a human had been lost in her.

  “I get you,” Ruth told her.

  Part II

  19

  Ten days later

  The motel clerk looked up as the black Ford Explorer pulled into a space directly in front of his office. Two men got out. One was white, the other African-American. Both over six feet tall, they were casually but neatly dressed, and clean-shaven. They both wore sunglasses.

  The way they walked toward the motel office door made the clerk think they were either military or law enforcement. There was an air-force base about a forty-minute drive from the motel. Maybe they were headed there. From time to time, outside contractors working at the base stayed here.

  The white guy was first through the door. He removed his Ray-Ban sunglasses, and smiled at the clerk. “Good afternoon.”

  The black guy kept on his sunglasses, heavily tinted Oakleys. He didn’t smile. He hung back by the door, keeping an eye on their vehicle, and the street outside.

  If it hadn’t been for their smart appearance, the clerk might have put t
his down as a robbery. “Good afternoon,” he said. “May I help you, gentlemen?”

  “We require two rooms. Adjoining, if possible.”

  Not a robbery. The clerk relaxed a little. He made a show of checking availability on the computer in front of him, even though, out of a total of forty units, only half were currently occupied, and most of those were taken by longer-term residents who paid on a weekly basis.

  A few taps on the keyboard later, the clerk looked up. “You’re in luck. I have two adjoining rooms that came available yesterday. How long will you be staying with us?”

  “Five nights, give or take. We’ll pay cash up front if that’s agreeable to you. If we’re staying longer, we’ll let you know.”

  At the mention of possibly staying longer, the massive black guy pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and glared at his companion, who just laughed.

  “Certainly, sir, cash is fine. I will have to see some form of identification, though.”

  “Sure,” said the white guy.

  Both men dug out wallets. Each presented a California driver’s license. The black guy handed his to the white guy, who slid them both over the desk toward the clerk. He jotted down their details as the white guy counted out the cash in crisp twenty-dollar bills. The clerk took the cash, and handed back the two California driving licenses, then walked into the back office and returned with two room keys. Each was attached to a heavy wooden fob. He pushed them over the counter. “Would you like me to show you to your rooms, gentlemen?”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  The clerk gave a little nod. Customers who paid cash up-front were always welcome. And these didn’t look like two men who were going to be throwing any wild parties. But it was still a little weird, and he was a naturally curious type. “So, are you here on business?” he asked.

  Both men stared at him. They didn’t reply, just stood there, looking at him. There was something about them that frightened him. Having been robbed a half-dozen times, he didn’t think he scared easily. But the way they were looking at him was unsettling.

  The clerk swallowed, hard. “No matter,” he said quickly. “Enjoy your stay. If you need anything at all, you just let me know.”

  “Appreciate that,” said the black guy.

  “One other thing,” the other added, as they both headed for the door. “We won’t require maid service, and we’d prefer not to disturbed unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Of course,” said the clerk. It wasn’t a request he would have agreed to usually. People who didn’t want their room cleaned were usually taking drugs, smuggling hookers, or something similarly seedy.

  Right now he wasn’t going to argue. Not with these two. All he wanted was to get them out of his office. If he didn’t see them again until they checked out, that was all the better.

  20

  The two men got back into the Ford Explorer. The driver started the engine, pulled out of the space, and drove the two hundred yards to where their rooms were located at the end of the motel. He pulled the Explorer into a small parking lot that was shielded from the road by the motel building. He reached up to the visor and pressed a switch. It activated two motion-sensor cameras, one mounted inside and one on the dash that covered the front of the vehicle.

  Cameras activated, the two men got out. The tailgate lifted with the click of a button on the key fob. They each grabbed two black canvas bags from the back. They walked, in silence, back to the front of the motel and entered their rooms.

  Once inside, each man performed the same basic surveillance sweep. Not that they expected to find anything. For one thing, apart from one individual in Washington D.C., no one knew who they were or why they were there. For another, the names and credentials they had given the motel clerk were fake.

  Checks finished, each man unpacked. Shirts were hung up. Pants neatly folded. Everything put away in proper order, including each man’s SIG Sauer P229 handgun. The weapons were purely a precaution, to be used only in the most extreme of circumstances. Neither of them expected anything extreme to occur but, as they had both learned the hard way, it was always better to be prepared for the unexpected.

  The connecting door opened. The white guy walked into his companion’s room. He took in the less than palatial surroundings. “Ready for your interview?”

  Across the room, Ty Johnson looked up at his business partner. “This whole thing is bullshit. You do realize that, right?”

  Ryan Lock smiled. If Ty was right, and he most likely was, he was never going to hear the end of it. But Donald Price was a man at his wit’s end, someone Lock knew and trusted, not an individual given to spending thousands of dollars on a neurotic whim. Price was worried about his daughter, Ruth. And if Lock and Ty could offer him reassurance that she was in good health that had to be a good thing. “Whether it’s bullshit or not remains to be seen.”

  Ty shook his head. His expression suggested that the world had gone crazy. “Checking up on some spoilt middle-class kid who’s been sent to brat camp. Come on, man, it’s a complete waste of everyone’s time. Dude’s pissed at his ex, I get that. But this is a long way to come to prove she’s wrong.”

  “Then if that’s all true, this’ll be easy money.”

  Ty turned away, clearly not convinced. And when Lock had gotten the panicked phone call from Donald Price, he had shared Ty’s skepticism.

  Then he’d sat down and begun his research on Broken Ridge. He hadn’t shared any of it with Ty.

  Lock wanted his partner to go in fresh, without any preconceived notions. Maybe the ex-employees who alleged dangerous practices were disgruntled because they’d been let go. Perhaps the former students who claimed they’d been abused were resentful. There were usually three sides to a story: one side, the other side, and the truth. Between them, he and Ty would work out which was which.

  Lock checked this watch. They had only two hours. “Let’s go find someplace to eat.”

  21

  Gretchen Applewhite had a bad feeling. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was there. It hung over the ranch like a great, dark cloud, ready to burst at any moment.

  She sat in her office in the main ranch house, and stared up at her father Albert’s portrait. Broken Ridge had been his baby, a place where parents could send their children when they had nowhere else to turn. A place of discipline and security that was insulated from the ravages of modern society.

  From the early 1960s on, Gretchen’s father had known that sooner or later the country’s experiment with permissiveness would fail. And that when it did, people would need someone, and somewhere, to turn to. A place especially for their children.

  It had taken time, but he had been proven right. From humble beginnings, when there was only the ranch house and the land that had come with it, the academy had blossomed. Then had come the first of the storm clouds. Accidents, kids who had gotten out of control. Journalists asking questions. And law enforcement. Her father had been forced to sell out to a large company that had taken his model and used it to make millions. They’d allowed him and then Gretchen to stay there, but they put constant pressure on them to deliver the numbers. They were all about the bottom line.

  And now, to make things worse, there were fresh storm clouds on the horizon. She could see them far off in the distance.

  There had been accusations and allegations, lies and mistruths. Against the staff. Against the way they did things. Against Gretchen herself. The people who owned the place now were growing restless.

  But Gretchen had to go on. She had to see through what her father had begun. Sure, Broken Ridge wasn’t the answer for every child sent to them, Gretchen had always accepted that. Some were beyond help, or simply too stubborn. But most, with a little encouragement and some tough love, came round. They learned to love the routine, and the peace of mind that came with it.

  But, still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that forces were massing against them. Somewhere out ther
e on the horizon.

  There was a knock at the door. Three quick taps in rapid succession, a signature knock. “Come in, Chris,” said Gretchen.

  He walked in, a broad smile on his face.

  What would she have done without Chris? How would she have coped? He had been a true blessing. Not only did he understand their mission, he never deviated from it. The students were lucky to have him, even if they didn’t always show their appreciation.

  “Mr. Cross is here,” said Chris.

  Oh, yes. Gretchen had almost forgotten. They had someone coming to interview for a counselor role. Chris had been pretty excited about it ever since Gretchen had shown him the application.

  The candidate was a former US Marine from California. He had responded to an online ad seeking staff. Because of their remote location it was hard to get good people. Those they did hire often didn’t last past the first month. Often they were as undisciplined as one of the more troubled children, or they had their own ideas as to how things should be done, and questioned Gretchen’s methods, which was one quick way to get fired.

  The Broken Ridge system could work only if the staff were united. The children, especially the more resistant ones, could sense hesitation in a staff member and would quickly exploit it. A chink in the armor, or a disagreement between staff, even if it was only a look, and the children sensed it. Gretchen’s father had taught her that the single greatest asset they had was their unity. Once that was breached, the whole thing would disintegrate. Discipline was everything, and that extended to the adults.

  “Well, then, Chris, show him in.”

  Chris about-turned and raced back out the door. Gretchen had rarely seen him quite so excited about a potential staff member. She suspected it was because the man had been a Marine and, according to his letter, had seen combat. That was the sort of thing that impressed a man like Chris. A man who had never had the opportunity to fight for his country.