Rock and a Hard Place

by Angie Stanton

  “You’re lying. You wouldn’t dare call Libby.” Hot rage overcame Peter at the thought of Garrett’s interference.

  “I did more than dare, I was quite convincing. I even had the phone company cancel her service!”

  Peter dove across the coffee table and sent a flower arrangement crashing to the floor. He slammed into Garrett and knocked the breath out of him as they hit the floor. They rolled around on the hardwood floor as Peter struck out and tried to pin his brother down. Garrett plowed into a teak side table knocking it over along with a decorative lamp that shattered on impact. Deaf to everything other than his malicious brother, Peter heaved each breath. He grabbed Garrett by the shoulders and slammed him against the floor. A loud thud sounded at the impact of his head to hardwood. Garrett was unable to avoid Peter’s powerful blows any longer. Peter pinned him and blind with rage delivered direct hits. His body hummed with an unseen drive. He noticed the taste of blood in his mouth from one lucky shot Garrett snuck through. But nothing mattered other than the fact Garrett had gone after Libby and hurt her. It was unforgiveable. She’d suffered too much, and this time it was by the hand of his egotistical, power hungry brother. He went for another hit when he felt himself yanked off the struggling Garrett. His dad and Roger did all they could to restrain Peter. His mom watched in horror.

  “Peter, what the hell is going on in here? Are you out of your mind?” his father roared.

  “Jett, calm down. It’s not good for your heart,” Peter’s mom pleaded, taking his father by the arm.

  Peter’s breath came in quick heavy bursts, as adrenaline coursed through his body. He resisted the urge to pummel Garrett into oblivion. The last thing he wanted was more heart problems for his dad. He shrugged away their grip.

  “Karen, I’m fine.” His father looked from Peter to Garrett, waiting for an answer. “Garrett, you want to explain why Peter felt the need to fight with you just minutes after a camera crew left the room?”

  The sound of Adam’s camera clicking filled the void. He lounged on the couch, not a care in the world. A carefree grin on his face, he snapped shots of the action, enjoying the drama.

  “Adam, put that damned camera down! The last thing we need is evidence of this debacle,” his father said.

  Garrett lay on the floor, his carefully styled hair a mess, and the beginnings of a fat lip growing. “He’s just a little bent out of shape that I called Libby and broke it off for him.”

  “You didn’t!” His mom turned on Garrett in disbelief. “What is wrong with you!”

  Why it surprised any of them, Peter couldn’t say. Garrett did whatever served Garrett best.

  “Someone had to do it. It’s not like we haven’t talked about how messed up Peter’s been ever since he started going out with her.” Garrett stood up, his torn shirt untucked and wrinkled, a bruise beginning to form on his face. “I’m just the one with the guts to follow through.” He touched his swollen lip and flinched.

  Peter couldn’t believe what he heard. His family talked about his relationship with Libby? He pushed his hair back in frustration.

  “Heck, Dad even agreed. He said the band would be better off if you lost the dead weight.”

  “Garrett, that’s enough.” His father’s voice was stern, but Peter noticed his guilty eyes.

  Peter realized it was true, they were talking behind his back. He turned to his dad. “How could you do this to us, to me?”

  “Peter, calm down.” His dad ordered as if Peter were still a small child who didn’t get his way, yet he wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  “No, I’m not going to calm down!” Peter yelled. “You let Garrett do this! You cut us off!” Of all the manipulative things Garrett had done over the years this was by far the worst. His family was interfering in his life. He couldn’t believe they would turn against him. They’d crossed the line.

  “This little thing with you two has gone on long enough. It’s time to get serious with your music. We have a lot coming up,” his father said.

  “What do you mean it’s gone on long enough? You’re putting a time table on my relationships?”

  “It was hardly a relationship, son. You’re young, you’ll date lots of girls.”

  “I don’t want lots of girls, I want Libby, and YES, it IS a relationship. She gets me. She doesn’t care about all this.” He waved his hands around at the fancy trappings of the room. “And since when am I not serious about my music? Don’t you dare use that as an excuse! We’ve never been as good or successful as we are now.”

  “That’s right, and now you boys have the chance to take this thing to the next level. You don’t need any distractions.”

  “Oh, and Garrett’s booty calls after every show aren’t a distraction?” Peter accused.

  His mother shot a surprised and disappointed look at Garrett. She shook her head. “We’ll deal with you later.”

  “What? The ladies love me.” Garrett bragged.

  “My God, Dad! Libby’s not a distraction, she’s my sanity.” He’d been happier these past couple months than ever before.

  “You have your family for sanity. That’s going to have to be good enough,” his dad said, pointing a finger at him.

  “Are you kidding me? This family is pushing me over the edge! I’m surrounded by you day and night.” Peter paced in the small area. “If we’re not holed up in a recording studio, we’re on that damned bus. I never get a moment to myself, a private phone conversation or chance to write without someone interrupting or sticking in their two cents!”

  “Peter, that’s enough.” His mother stepped in trying to soothe his anger.

  He let out a deep sigh. “I love her, Mom.” He looked from his dad, who stepped away and rolled his eyes, and then to his mom who offered a look of compassion.

  “Honey, she isn’t what she seems.” She placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “What are you talking about?” He shrugged her hand away.

  “Libby’s mother has a police record,” she said.

  “What?” He shook his head. “No, no! She doesn’t.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Where was this coming from and why would his mother repeat such a horrible lie?

  “Peter, Roger has a copy of the police record to prove it.”

  “What? You had her investigated?”

  “Well, you were spending all your free time talking to her or going to see her. We’ve never met the girl. Even your brother thought the situation was a bit odd,” she confessed.

  Peter looked at his brothers. Adam enjoyed the family drama, and Garrett sported a cocky look of superiority. “Since when do you listen to Garrett? He’s only doing this because he wants something. He can’t stand to see me happy.”

  He turned back to his mother. “You’re wrong about Libby’s mother.”

  His parents exchanged a worried glance.

  Peter needed them to understand and to know the truth about Libby. “Her mother’s dead. She died in a car accident a couple years ago, so you see, she can’t have a police record. That’s why Libby’s living in Rockville with her aunt. Libby isn’t even from Wisconsin.”

  His mother looked at him with sympathy. “She’s told you some tall tales, she wanted you to like her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You’re not listening, either one of you! Libby’s entire family was in the car. Her little sister died that day too. Libby’s got scars to prove it. After the funeral her Dad lost it and she got dumped at her aunt’s. It’s not her fault if her aunt’s a criminal. My God!” He threw his hands in air, frustrated beyond belief. He looked to each family member willing them to understand. The regret on his mother’s face, told him she now understood.

  “Roger got it wrong. Mom, you never should have let this happen.” Peter shook his head, walked over to his mother and spoke quietly. “I need to talk to her, I need to fix this. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. I don’t even know how to get a hold of her without going to Rockville.”

 
; “No one’s going anywhere,” his father interrupted, crossing his arms. “The European tour is about to kick off and we’re behind schedule already.”

  His mom rubbed his back. “Don’t worry, we’ll get a hold of her. It’ll be alright. I know it seems terrible right now, but you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

  “No, I won’t feel better until I can talk to her and make sure she knows we’re okay.” Thank God mom understood. He could always count on her in a crisis.

  # # #

  That night Libby, wearing a baggy t-shirt, wandered her bedroom, unable to sleep. She didn’t want to be at school and now she didn’t want to be here either. When she came home, Aunt Marge gave her the silent treatment, which was fine. The acrid stench of pot filled the air. A bag of pot sat on the kitchen counter like a huge elephant in the room. Libby supposed now that Aunt Marge’s business dealings were out in the open, she didn’t feel the need to hide anything anymore.

  The evening inched by, a slow torture into night. More than anything, she wanted Peter. She didn’t care what Garrett said. In her eyes Peter would always be perfect. She would love him for the rest of her life.

  She broke down and tried to call him, in desperate hope that Garrett was wrong, but her phone had no service. Garrett had cut the phone service and as a result Libby out of Peter’s life. It was over. No going back. This flashy phone was no more than an empty shell. All the life and love it held now dark and dead.

  Her stomach growled with hunger, but she didn’t dare go downstairs in search of food. She didn’t trust herself around Aunt Marge. What she really wanted to do was light the barn on fire and watch her aunt flip out as she lost the only thing she cared about go up in smoke.

  Libby plopped back down on the bed, miserable, wishing she could sleep. It was after eleven p.m. and her body wouldn’t give in. Some freakish adrenaline from losing Peter consumed her body. She stared at the shadows the moonlight cast across her room. She tried to block out all the painful memories. Her Mom cover in shattered glass. Her sister hooked up to machines that couldn’t save her. Her big strong father crumbling before her eyes. His car driving away. The memories morphed into equally painful thoughts of Peter; him singing to her at Parfrey’s Glen, the way he held her in his arms and his eyes gazed deep into hers.

  A loud crash sounded downstairs. She jerked up in bed and heard another huge crash, then loud voices yelling. She sat paralyzed on her bed unsure what to do. Downstairs her aunt’s shrieks filled the house.

  Someone was breaking into the house.

  Chapter 16

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs and paralysis turned to action. Libby leapt off the bed, searching the room for a safe hiding place. The closet held almost nothing and wouldn’t conceal her; the furniture was sparse with nothing to hide behind. In unbearable panic she ran to the bed and began to crawl under it, smacking her chin on the floor and scraping her shoulder against the ancient frame.

  Her bedroom door burst open and two enormous men rushed in. Their bright flashlights caught her attempt at escape.

  Her heart nearly exploded as she clawed to fit under the bed. They were on her in an instant. Rough hands dragged her back out, causing her nightshirt to slide up and reveal her bare legs and underwear.

  “No!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping to alert someone, anyone to help. She dug her fingernails into the threadbare carpet, and kicked out at her attackers. Pure terror consumed her.

  Libby fought their vicious attack with a strength she never knew she possessed. A heavy boot slammed into her back, knocked the wind out of her and pinned her to the floor. Her heart pounded huge loud thunks. Tears streaked her face in defeat. As she struggled to breathe, the men flipped her over and blinded her with their bright flashlights.

  “Jesus, Smith, she’s a kid,” one of the attackers said.

  “Like that makes a difference,” the other responded.

  “Back off, let her breathe,” the first voice said.

  A set of hands moved away, but the other kept her locked in an iron grip. The lights left her face and moved expertly throughout the room.

  “This room’s clear, just the girl,” an annoyed voice called.

  In the moonlit room she saw the shadowed men look at each other and share an unspoken thought. They hauled her to her feet, and before she could react, cold smooth metal clicked tight around her wrist. Her arm was pulled to the head of her bed where the other end clicked around the wrought iron bar.

  Dumbfounded, she looked at her wrist and back at the men. What the hell?

  “To keep you from running off.” The dark man answered her unspoken question.

  Simultaneously the two giants turned and left her room. Large white letters were printed on the back of their coats.

  SWAT.

  Relief and dread washed over her as she struggled to take a deep breath. They weren’t here to attack her; they were here for the pot. She moved her arm and found it securely locked to the bed. Did they suspect her? With her luck Aunt Marge would pin the drugs on her. The kids at school would have a field day with this.

  Miss Orman must have reported it. How stupid of Libby to tell her. Wait a minute. Why would she want to protect Aunt Marge? She was a hideous person who deserved what she got. Libby no longer heard her screeching, but could imagine her going ballistic. A tiny smile lit her face.

  As Libby’s pulse slowed to a healthier pace, she noticed more men lurking outside covertly checking all the outbuildings as if they were on an episode of CSI. The moonlight illuminated the yard, revealing how they used hand signals as they rushed from building to building. As the minutes passed, their urgency slowed and lights began to appear in the barn.

  Jackpot!

  Unable to do much else, Libby watched from her window as the SWAT team took pictures and started moving the contents of the barn. Had they forgotten about her? It seemed like hours had passed. She looked out across the fields to Parfrey’s Glen, at one time her sanctuary, and then, after meeting Peter, her haven. Would he ever stop there again? No, probably not. She sat on the edge of the bed, head low. Why did life have to suck so much?

  A few minutes later, a woman startled her when she walked into the room. Libby never heard her on the stairs.

  “Hi, I’m officer Decker and I’m going to take you downstairs to ask you some questions. Do you understand?” She stood as formidable as a giant oak.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Libby answered.

  “Stand up, please. I’m going to move this cuff from the bed to your other wrist.”

  “Please don’t do that, I didn’t do anything wrong. Honest,” Libby implored, but obeyed her instruction.

  “It’s policy. Until you’ve been released from suspicion, we need to take precautions.”

  # # #

  Libby sat in the back of a squad car. She had never wondered what getting arrested would be like, but now the experience was forever ingrained in her psyche. She absorbed the view of massive equipment in the front of the car. The equipment seemed more useful to fly a jet plane than track down small-town drug dealers.

  Officer Decker turned down the volume on the police radio, but it still squawked in the background. Tiny red and yellow lights lit the console. A strong scent permeated the vehicle, a combination of leather, plastic, and unknown smells she’d rather not guess at. She sank back into the seat, miserable.

  “Thanks for your patience, Libby. I know this has been a long night.” Officer Decker’s demeanor changed now that the authorities knew she had nothing to do with Aunt Marge’s pot selling. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone we can call for you? A friend or neighbor?”

  “Nope. No one.” Her only friend was Peter and he disconnected himself from her life. What would she say if she could get through to him? Hi, you don’t want to be with me any more, but can you save me from my train wreck of a life?

  “Anyone at school?” Officer Decker was reaching for someone, anyone to call, but the fact was, no one existed. Just her dad and
they already knew he’d deserted her.

  “There is one person,” Libby started. Officer Decker’s eyes lit, her pad open and pen ready. “My school counselor, Miss Orman, but she’s out of town for Thanksgiving weekend.”

  “I see.” The officer appeared disappointed as she closed the pad. Why would she care if Libby had no friends?

  “Can I go back inside now?” Despite all the adrenaline from earlier, Libby felt dog tired. She wanted to collapse into bed and put this awful episode behind her.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. This is a crime scene and it will be investigated for the next few days, maybe longer.”

  “Where will I go?” Libby sat up and peeked through the wire divider protecting the officer from the dangerous suspects trapped in the backseat.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to determine. You’re too old for foster care.” The officer seemed disappointed.

  “Foster care! What are you talking about? I’m almost seventeen. I can take care of myself. All I need is a place to stay until I can get back in the house.” There was no way they were putting her in some foster home. The only things she ever heard about foster homes were stories about weird people who took in kids for the state money and the kids were often abused.

  “Calm down,” the officer interrupted. “As I said, you’re too old. Foster care is designed for younger kids, not older teens.”

  “How soon until my aunt is out? I’ll be fine until she posts bail or whatever she needs to do.” Libby didn’t know how she’d come up with money to post bail and could barely believe she now lobbied to stay with her aunt. What a strange twist of fate. Now maybe Aunt Marge needed her. How long should she let her sit locked up before helping her out?

  “I’m afraid your aunt will be tied up in the legal system for quite some time. In addition to growing marijuana with intent to deliver, which is a misdemeanor crime, she will likely be charged with child neglect and contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”