~ oOo ~
Ok, so we've far surpassed 150 favourites, 300 alerts,
and 350 reviews! I honestly can't believe how well this
has been received so far.
So, in other news, I'd like to thank my Pinky Promises Dream Team,
SunflowerFran and annaharding. Withouth them, his would be
a messy shell. They take my ramblings and make them prettier.
I've been insanely busy this week so I haven't managed to
get to many reviews, but I promise I'll try harder this week!
Thank you for being patient with me.
Some of you may know already, but I'm working on an
Emmett outtake, and hoping to post it this coming week
or next, so keep your eyes peeled for that if you're wanting
to hear from him :)
~ oOo ~
Summary: When two little girls were allowed to walk
home from school one bright spring day nobody could've
predicted the events that followed. The way two families
were torn apart by the vendetta of a deranged man.
Nearly twelve years on, we'll watch as the two girls stolen
away from their homes at eight years old fight to take
back their lives. If only it were as simple as escaping. AU
Pinky Promises
Chapter Fifteen
During the time they'd spent in America, Scarlett and Rosalie didn't often allow themselves to think of England, or their families, and homes. It was always easier not to, because they didn't know if they'd ever get to see those people or places as anything other than fuzzy memories through eight-year-old eyes. But every now and then it was inevitable that they'd think of old times such as Mothers and Father's Day, for example, or the birthdays of their parents and siblings. Christmases would be cold and snowy but go uncelebrated at Garrett's insistence. The ranch wouldn't smell of Scarlett's favorite treat; gingerbread, or home-baked puddings nobody except Peter's father-in-law, Roy, would eat. There was never a tree decorated with homemade stars or the angel Rosalie always got to put on the top.
Worst of all, there wouldn't be the loud, festive music the children danced to while singing along joyously in their Christmas outfits. Easter egg hunts were nonexistent, as were Halloween parties with trick-or-treating and apple-bobbing in an old washing-up bowl.
Marley had never experienced the magic of a visit from Santa Claus, had never worn a silly costume for Halloween, or celebrated a birthday with wrapped gifts and a birthday cake. She didn't know what those things were.
For these occasions, Charlie and Peter had gone all-out with the decorations, especially after their mothers had passed. They wanted the children to have more than just horrific funerals to remember. They wanted their childhoods to be filled with good memories despite the tragedy, even though they, themselves, were battling despair.
With those thoughts in the back of her mind, Rosalie couldn't believe how much the world had changed. In the years she, Scarlett, and Marley had been holed up on the ranch she'd been imagining the world the same as it had been when she'd left it. Yet from the back of the tinted-windowed, black SUV, she stared at the streets in shock, because they'd changed beyond recognition.
The cars on the road and in the driveways were shinier, more modern version of the ones she remembered. The houses were newer in style with bright, white window frames, lawns manicured to within an inch of their lives, people wearing clothes so different from the kind she remembered from her childhood. Children played with toys on their front lawns, toys she could only have dreamed of. It was Saturday, so there were many children out enjoying the fine spring sun. It made Rosalie shudder to think there were people out there like Garrett Smith just waiting for an opportunity to snatch the little blond boy playing in his front garden on a scooter, or to bundle the curly, black-haired girl across the street in the back of a waiting van.
"You okay?" A voice whispered.
Rosalie tipped her head to the side, lips curling up shakily at Scarlett. "I'm good. You?"
Scarlett's shoulders lifted and fell in the tiniest of shrugs. She wasn't sure. Nervous anticipation clung to her body.
"I didn't expect everything to look so different," Rosalie admitted in a murmur only meant for Scarlett's ears. Charlie and Peter continued their quiet conversation in the row, two back from them, Riley and their escorting police officer silent in the front. Scarlett shot a quick glance over her shoulder, smiling at the sight that greeted her.
Edward and Marley, thick as thieves, as usual, were sitting together, their heads bent over the coloring book Charlie had bought at Gatwick upon their arrival.
His first gift to his granddaughter.
Marley was scolding Edward by tapping his fingers with the end of her pencil, pointing to where she was coloring inside the lines. Tilting her head, Scarlett realized it was a bunny they were working on. She didn't need to look at Mister Eddie belted beside Marley to know that they were coloring his replica on the page, right down to the blue-string scar on his ear from where Marley had rubbed the fabric until it split when she was a toddler.
"Neither did I," she finally responded to Rosalie. "Do you think…do you think the houses will look the same?"
Rosalie had been thinking the same thing, wondering if their dads had changed the only homes they'd ever known.
Like Charlie and Peter had needed to come to terms with the girls being different from how they'd been when they left, Scarlett and Rosalie were unsure as to whether they'd shortly be arriving at homes they didn't recognize.
"I don't…I mean, probably not. It's been a long time, right? They've probably changed them."
The girls were unwilling to dwell on it too long, so they went back to watching houses pass them by through the tinted window.
As they passed a supermarket that hadn't been there twelve years before, shoppers paused while unpacking groceries from their trollies to speculate on who could be inside the convoy. An old lady waiting for a bus with her young grandson eyed it shrewdly, catching a glimpse of the uniformed officer in the driver's seat. The train lines were down next to Hampden Park Train Station so traffic wrapped around the roundabout. A lot of eyes followed the SUV and the police car close on its tail as they cruised through the lane to turn onto Lottbridge Drive.
Scarlett and Rosalie shared a tentative smile as they passed number eleven, where two of their friends from school lived.
The bus stop that had been falling apart when they were taken had been repaired and painted bright blue with an electronic timetable next to it, although at a glance the girls had no idea what it was. Their experiences with technology were limited to an old TV they'd never used and kitchen appliances. At the bottom of the hill punctuating Lottbridge Drive as it curved onto Kingston Road stood a graffiti-covered phone box as well as an apple-red postbox, a group of seven ten-year-old's playing football on the grass just as Scarlett and Rosalie had so long ago.
Charlie and Peter halted their conversation to watch the girls' reactions to the streets surrounding their homes, one in particular. As the SUV pulled to one side to allow an oncoming trio of cars to pass, Scarlett's body began to tremble violently. Rosalie's eyes were wide open even though she desperately wanted to close them at the sight of Southern Road.
It was like a train wreck. You hated to, but couldn't help but watch the devastation unfold.
Four doors into the road where a young woman chatted to a friend in her car was the exact spot where Scarlett's bag had lain, its contents scattered over the pavement until Charlie discovered it thirty minutes after the girls should have returned home. It was then he'd realized it was time to panic, calling first the police and then Peter, who'd been picking Heidi and Pippa up from preschool a few minutes away. Though inconspicuous to most, Southern Road symbolized the gates to hell for the girls, who were unable to take their eyes away from the spot where a blue car idled outside number seven.
Twelve years ago, it was there that Garrett Smith had pulled over while he snatched two innocent school children.
Unbidden, the scents and sounds of that day washed over Scarlett and Rosalie. The pungent aroma of the rose garden Margaret Johnson of number three tended to mercilessly every morning. A brindle Staffordshire bullterrier barked throatily from the window of number two, her cataract-impaired vision allowing her only to see the blurred shapes of the girls meandering along arm-in-arm.
And then, the rumble of an engine behind them, an innocent sound to their unsuspecting ears. The smell of cigarette smoke on the black-haired man, his arm winding around Rosalie's middle while his left muffled her surprised screams.
Garrett Smith's sickeningly sweet aftershave wafting through the air. The coarse material of his jumper scratching at the skin that Scarlett's short-sleeved polo left bare…
Gradually, Peter's voice cut into the flashback of that fateful day. "Girls? It's okay, we're right here. You're safe."
February 7th.
Not entirely registering the words he was saying, the wide, panicked eyes of the girls met Peter's, their bodies instinctively turning towards a voice they were swiftly beginning to realize embodied the feeling of safety.
"Daddy…" Rosalie whimpered, a fat tear sliding over her cheek.
"It's all right, honey, it's all right." It killed Peter that he couldn't get to her, couldn't comfort her. "Look, we're almost on our street. We're almost there."
Mindlessly following Peter's suggestion, Scarlett and Rosalie's heads turned in tandem to gaze out of the window. Their surroundings seeped into their eyes slowly. They were passing Tugwell Park.
Football and rainbows, sunny days and rainy puddles…Summers with Archie, Edward, and the twins.
As they passed the field where they'd spent many a day – sunny or otherwise –, aqua and baby-blue eyes spotted the large apple tree on the bend connecting the road they were on to the next street, the boughs of that tree having witnessed many games of hide and seek, having listened to the secrets of giggly little girls and muddy-kneed boys.
"Are you ready to go home, girls?" Riley's expression was kind, open, and gentle as the girls faced him.
Home.
Such a simple word, such a complex meaning for two girls who'd been through more trauma in their twenty-one years of life than most people saw in an entire lifetime.
Sharing a look that said everything they wanted to express but couldn't at this moment, they breathed deeply, exhaling at the same time as their heads tipped in synchronized agreement.
Never more proud of them than they were then, Charlie and Peter sat with clenched fists in the back, watching their daughters intently as the SUV crept down the road they both knew well. However, the girls had little recollection of how much their memories had been blurred by time.
The small garden in front of a house that used to belong to an eccentric old man was now littered with children's outdoor toys. Number fourteen had been painted pale yellow instead of chipped-white with brick showing through here and there. The Robertson's two-person convertible had been replaced with a minivan to accommodate their six children under age ten. As the numbers of the houses on the doors got closer and closer to the one-hundred-and-sixties, Scarlett and Rosalie's fingers twined and squeezed. Hard.
Edward drew Marley's attention away from her coloring, pointing out the window and murmuring for her to look. She was excited, kneeling up to peer out with her face against the glass between her small hands. He grinned at her, charmed by the little girl's childish pleasure.
Twin hearts thundered rhythmically. Stomachs knotted in nervous anticipation. The atmosphere in the SUV went from tense to beyond petrified within a fraction of a second. Riley's ice-blue eyes locked on the girls' faces in the rear-view mirror. They shivered, quaked, and whispered fervent reassurances to one another.
Then, they were there. Right outside.
Home was within reach.
Scarlett blinked long eyelashes at the house in which she'd spent her first eight years of life. The red-brown brick was the same, as was the white molding on the left side, and the little triangular porch over the front door. The eight windows were in the same places they'd always been. A dark blue family car was parked on the driveway to the right while a little boy's scooter lay abandoned on a scruffy lawn. To the left of the house was a tree, its blossom spreading across the grass with every soft puff of the warm breeze. And beside it, an identical house sat, a small tree in the center instead of a scooter. Scarlett's body shuddered, tears tumbling over her cheeks to splash her white-knuckled fists.
"It's the same…" she breathed in wonder. The exultation she felt was completely unexpected. Apart from little touches here and there – plants, the mat on the doorstep and the child's scooter on the grass – both houses were identical to the girls' memories.
"Do you want to go inside? I'm afraid out here we're probably attracting attention," Riley prompted gently. He didn't want to upset anybody, but already he had an agent notifying him through his ear piece that a nosy neighbor across the street was peering through her curtains at them. They'd gone ahead and set up security cameras in and around Charlie and Peter's homes, with the focus on Charlie's as they'd made the decision to head there on arrival in England.
In the early days, when Charlie had moved in with his wife, and Peter with his, they'd often congregated at Charlie's house.
Rosalie nodded for the both of them, so Officer Burgess and Riley climbed from the SUV. The latter then slid open the door separating the girls from the outside world while the officer let Charlie and Peter out through the rear door. They peered in at their girls, not wanting to pressure them but knowing they needed to get inside soon.
"It's time, Barley," Rosalie whispered softly.
"We're in this together, right Rose?"
"Always."
With that, they steeled themselves and slid across the leather seats, stepping out onto the pavement at the same time, their hands locked between them, eyes wide open to take in everything at once.
Charlie walked ahead quickly to open the door while Peter stayed a foot or so behind the girls, Edward at his side with Marley on his hip, Mister Eddie's ear firmly between her teeth as she gazed at the home looming ever closer with trepidation, nervous now that they'd arrived.
Riley kept right back with the police officer, arms crossed over his chest, eyes suspiciously wet. The officer glanced his way with a smirk.
"All right, all right. I'm not made of fucking stone," the American grunted, earning himself a rueful chuckle.
"Hey, I'm not judging. I gotta daughter about their age." Officer Burgess shook his head, light brown hair flopping down over his forehead. "Can't imagine what those guys're going through."
Riley wiped his eyes roughly as they followed the family into the house. Not for the first time, he was thankful he'd never have to know how Charlie or Peter felt at that moment.
Inside, Scarlett and Rosalie tried to take in their surroundings through the haze of disbelief shrouding them. The short hallway led them straight into a living room decorated in a mix of warm creams and varying shades of blue and brown. The familiarity of it was startling. Two, three-person sofas faced each other with a coffee table in the middle, a forgotten newspaper and a half-empty mug sitting there patiently. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall above the fireplace. The windows were framed by blue and cream striped curtains that brushed the floor, the ceiling above painted a matching shade of sky-blue.
"Do you remember how your mum always said she wanted to be able to see the sky, even when it was cloudy?" Charlie questioned in the softest, calmest tone he could manage. Seeing Scarlett in this room was all he'd wanted for so long, but his head and heart didn't know how to take it now that it was actually happening. The added thought of his late wife sent sparks of longing through his veins. She was always good with tricky situations. Penelope would've known how to make this all okay. She set people at ease without thinking about it.
"I remember," Scarlett sputtered. She lifted a hand to her mouth as images of her mother dancing her toddler-self around the room filled her mind, dark brown eyes twinkling in that way Charlie had fallen in love with. At once she felt the urgent need to see her mum's favorite room, the room she adored and inhabited the most. Turning swiftly on her heels, Scarlett tugged Rosalie along with her into the hallway, then took a sharp left and gasped. Tears overflowed in torrents, drenching her skin and darkening the gray t-shirt she wore beneath her hoodie.
Before she'd died, Penelope had turned this house into a home. She'd loved the summer, and had spent a weekend with Tina painting every cupboard in the kitchen a sunny yellow to match the bright flowers she insisted went on the island in the center of the room as well as the dining table, which stood opposite French doors that opened out onto the garden patio. The dark brown-black surfaces reflected the light brilliantly, the creamy-brown tiled floor adding a farmhouse feel to the large space. Six, dark brown leather chairs surrounded the oak dining table Edward had built from scratch, a fresh pot of yellow zinnias filling the room with their fresh scent. Flashes of a blonde-haired woman flitting to and fro in her signature pink apron, a four-year-old on her hip and a twelve-year-old trailing behind danced in front of Scarlett's eyes.
But that was before…
"Do you want to see your room? I left it the same…we both did."
The girls blew twin sighs of relief.
"Please, Dad." Scarlett released Rosalie's hand, moving to take Charlie's. They moved back through the hallway, making their way up the stairs with their hands still joined. The first door on the left at the top of the landing was different, decorated with trains and cars instead of band posters and football trophies. Carl-Roman's and Chase's room, Scarlett surmised.
A sharp gasp left Scarlett's lips when she and Charlie reached the door at the end of the landing. Scarlett's name was still spelled out in glittery pink letters on the white wood, a piece of cardboard hanging from the handle that read 'This Princess Is Busy – Do Not Disturb.' Charlie's body was rigid as he nudged the door open with the toe of his shoe. It swung in slow-motion to reveal an eight-year-old girl's paradise.
The room bore bright pink walls, matching carpet, and a white, imitation crystal chandelier that any princess would be jealous of – if it were real, of course. The headboard of a white bed was tucked into a small alcove, a multi-colored canopy pinned back with lacy pink ties. Scarlett stepped into her childhood bedroom and slid her trainers off, marveling at the softness of the abstract, floral rug between her toes through her thin socks. Letting Charlie's hand fall back to his side, she trailed her fingertips over the smooth, curved footboard of her bed, her tear-blurred vision taking in the throw that matched the canopy folded neatly across the pale pink quilt, a single, flower-shaped cushion resting against the blue pillows at the opposite end.
Her eyes caught some photographs on the tall cabinet near the window, and as she leaned closer, her lips involuntarily twitched upwards. The grinning faces of her nearest and dearest sent her stomach flip-flopping. A teddy bear she vaguely recalled being given after having her tonsils removed at aged six sat untouched in the same place she'd put it; on the desk in front of one window, while a pale green armchair sat in front of the other.
Scarlett's feet carried her unthinkingly to the chair where she slowly sat. Tucking her legs up against her chest, Scarlett whispered, "I can't even…it's just…thank you."
No words could describe how grateful she felt for this simple refusal to give up, because in her eyes that was exactly what this was – the first tangible bit of proof that even when she and Rosalie had lost hope of being rescued, their ever-loyal dads hadn't.
~ oOo ~
An Undisclosed Location, UK
A pair of grey-blue eyes stared out at the sheep meandering by the window, the sting of tiredness prickling even as the tall man leaning against the wall fought sleep. He sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair before falling into the chair at his back.
Boredom was torture. Not knowing was torture.
He'd been in this house for two weeks, but it already felt like centuries. Wind rattled the windows, the first drops of rain spitting at the glass. It was always raining, never sunny. He'd thought it was a myth, that England was perpetually rainy.
He was fast learning that it was no myth.
The clock in the corner ticked loudly, but the hands didn't move. Within his first few days here, he'd tried to fix it, but the old thing was beyond fixing, and he'd given up when he couldn't even get it to stop ticking.
Beneath his socked feet, the floorboards were cold and hard and bore the marks of booted feet whose soles had trodden upon the miles of muddy earth surrounding the cottage. From all directions, all he could see was green or brown, and the gray of the sky. It had been nice at first, the peace and quiet, the tranquility after the weeks of upheaval and revelations. The novelty had quickly worn off, leaving maddening boredom and restlessness in its place. There was only so much more of it that he could take before it was too much.
He'd snap. And he wasn't sure he'd like it if that happened.
The sound of a car roaring towards the house had his head whipping around, dark blond hair flying with the movement. He was long overdue a haircut, not that it was high on the priority list at that moment in time, but it meant he was sporting quite the mane.
The door opened a handful of seconds after the engine cut out, and by the time the agent stepped through, he was standing.
"Morning, Emmett. So, I have some news for you. The girls are home."
~ oOo ~
Back in Eastbourne
"Come on, champ, just eat this little bit."
Archie's eyes flew to the hands on his watch for the ninth time in six minutes. It read nine-fifty-eight. A mere minute later than it had at last check.
"No, Daddy! I don't want jammy toast, I want choc'late hoops." Young Carl-Roman crossed his arms over his chest, arranging his features into an adorable pout capable of melting the hardest of hearts, the blue-green eyes he inherited from his grandfather narrowed in determination. Apart from his curly black hair, a few shades darker than Archie's chocolate brown, and his lighter eyes, the little boy was the spitting image of his dad when he was that age. Argumentative streak very much included.
His baby brother, Chase, on the other hand, he had Archie's curly dark brown hair, but his mother's grey-blue eyes. In the highchair beside Carl-Roman, he wore a big grin ringed with porridge, one fist in his mouth while the other mashed banana on the tray. Almost six-months old, he was well into baby-led weaning, and loving it. Although, he was more loving the mess than the actual food, much to Archie's alternating amusement and frustration.
Archie huffed out a breath, eyeing his eldest son with a raised eyebrow. "If I give you the hoops for breakfast today you have to have toast tomorrow, deal?"
Although he was well aware Kristen would have his guts for garters if she found out he'd been bargaining with their six-year-old over breakfast, he couldn't help but be distracted by the time as it crawled by torturously slow. In his childhood home just fifteen minutes away, his sisters were walking in the same rooms in which he'd only been able to imagine them for years. All he could think about was the fact that he could hop in his car and be there with them within a handful of minutes, that he'd be able to see them with his own eyes, hug them with his own arms. He just had to wait for the call from his dad giving him the okay to do so.
"Deal, Daddy!"
Archie refocused on Carl-Roman, removing the now, cold slice of toast before replacing it with a cartoon bowl of chocolate hoops. The clock read ten 'o clock exactly when the bowl touched the wooden table, the shrill ring of the phone on the kitchen counter coinciding with it perfectly.
"You gotta get that, Daddy!" Carl-Roman chirped through a mouthful of cereal.
Archie swallowed thickly. "I know, champ." The phone felt hot in his hand when he finally grabbed it, lifting it to his ear and pressing the button flashing green. "Hey, Dad."
"S'that my Pawpaw? Can I talk to him, Daddy?"
Archie gestured for his bouncing son to wait, the lump in his throat too thick to speak through.
"You can—" Charlie choked on his words, his tears obvious even through the phone. "You can come over as soon as you're ready, son." Archie let out a long, gusty breath, more than ready to see his two best friends again. "They're home, Arch. They're home."