An excerpt from Pinky Promises, Chapter Eight

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon James, Peter, Riley and another agent spend time going over every new detail. The link between the suspect and the victims’ family throws a completely different spin on the entire investigation. They also discover a possible, albeit tenuous, motive – jealously. With James’ limited memory of Garrett Smith during their shared school years they uncover a strange obsession with his late wife, Penelope. The connections the FBI have are unprecedented and they manage to access records of therapy sessions he attended briefly near the end of his final year at school. According to his therapist’s notes he spoke often of ‘P.W’, although he never mentioned who he or she was to him or their full name. Now they know. He also showed signs of mental instability, something Peter and James wish they didn’t know. It puts all sorts of things in their minds, not least putting the scar on Clara’s eyebrow at the forefront of James’. Could he be responsible for that mark on his daughter’s once flawless face? The idea chills him to the bone. Riley shows the men more pictures taken by his undercover agents of the ranch their daughters were being held on. Now, the day after James’ uncelebrated birthday, the twenty-first of April, it’s over twenty-four hours since that same ranch exploded into a fireball of debris, the girls managing to make their escape in the mayhem. Two shocked fathers learn of their girls’ bravery in using a ranch hand’s truck to get away, and they’re relieved to hear that the man the agents are protecting is the man responsible for their escape. Air crackles tensely around the group as Riley shows them a candid photo of a silhouette in the window in the dead of night. It was taken from a fair distance and is slightly blurred by sheets of rain but both men can clearly see the shape of a woman in the darkened room. The soft glow of her hair tells them it’s more than likely Clara, the colouring too light to be Elisa’s auburn, although they cannot be sure because of the poor quality. Riley tells them his agent took it shortly after midnight during a phone call to him, and James is struck with worry – why is she up at that time? Thoughts of his once early-bird daughter make him struggle with the idea that she’d be awake at midnight. She was always such a deep sleeper when she was little. Why has that changed? Choice, or as a result of defensive nature?

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An excerpt from Chapter Eleven of Pinky Promises

Elisa is rigid on the adjoining sofa, uncomfortable with the addition of someone new but valiantly fighting her anxiety for the sake of her sister. Though the thought of an unfamiliar person sets her teeth on edge she knows that right now, Clara needs this extra help. “Good afternoon, Miss Winters. Riley Lawrence.” After Riley has introduced himself he leads Megan Winters into the room that Elisa, Clara and Agent Matthews currently occupy. Both James and Peter are upstairs, hating that they need it but taking a much-needed break from the atmosphere surrounding the girls, while also under Riley’s order to give them some time to get used to Megan without their presence. “Miss Winters, this is Elisa Harrison,” he pauses, nodding at Elisa reassuringly, before settling his eyes to one side of Clara, “and this is Clara Delaney. Clara, Elisa, this is Megan Winters. She’s-”

“A shrink.” Three sets of shocked eyes flick to the blonde in the corner following her words spoken through gritted teeth. The fourth set of eyes, soft blue ones belonging to Megan Winters, gaze kindly at Clara. She takes in the teenager tucked into a ball on the chair, black jogging bottom-clad legs tightly pressed to her chest, the dark purple hoodie she is wearing far too baggy on what she has already been warmed is an incredibly slight frame.

For a few long moments nobody seems to know what to say, simply watching Megan watching Clara, who stares over her left shoulder at the wall. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Megan finally murmurs to the girls, turning her head to meet Riley’s bemused eyes. “Will I be staying here or at a hotel?” He gets himself together enough to tell her he’s had a room made up for her upstairs, then he leads her up there when she assures him it will be fine. Agent Matthews repositions himself at the entrance to the living area as Elisa stands to shakily make her way to Clara’s side.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she whispers, curling into the gap she creates for her. The girls clasp their hands together tightly. “Are you ok?”

Clara’s answering nod is slow, a breath hissing out through her teeth as she forces herself to relax. It’s just Elisa. Just Ellie. The pair stay together in that small armchair for two hours.  Elisa is the first to move when she needs the toilet and her sister follows silently shortly after, laying rigid in the twin bed beside Elisa’s until she wakes the entire household with her petrified wails forty-five minutes later.

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A Pinky Promises excerpt, Chapter Six

Time passes slowly for the girls. The sun eventually begins to set, the two of them only moving to drink some water and force down some chilled tinned fruit salad before returning to the rickety bed. The door is now barricaded shut by a water-damaged cabinet, the only contents a torn bible and an empty bottle with no label. The slightly rusted key to the room is sitting atop it with the dim light above making it almost seem orange. Neither of them can fully comprehend fully the way their lives have changed yet again, nor do they allow their minds to imagine that a frantic phone call is being made across the Atlantic Ocean.

 

Eastbourne, England – April 21^st 2012 3:24a.m.

 

A pair of wide, blue-green eyes stay trained on the ringing handset for a full minute before it rings off. The huffed breath released is loud in the silent, dark room. Street lights shine dimly through the net curtains, the deep purple drapes matching the bedspread opened wide to the starry night and the moon, eerily bright in the inky sky. The muted buzz of the simple back flip-phone on the bedside cabinet begins again, ‘R.  Lawrence’ lit up in bright white letters on the screen. This time, a weathered hand reaches shakily for it. Suntanned, aged fingers wrap around the phone before pressing down on the flashing green button and raising it with a hesitant pause to an ear covered slightly by greying strawberry-blonde curls. “Delaney,” he says softly, gruff but very much alert.

There’s a short pause before the words that James Delaney has been longing to hear for over nine years are spoken excitedly, a little crackly through the phone but clear as a bell in his mind. “James Delaney? I’m Riley Lawrence with the FBI’s serious crime unit, and I believe we’ve located your daughter.”

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An excerpt from Pinky Promises, Chapter Two

Once all of the household chores are completed -at least until the men return for dinner- Clara and Elisa return to their room for a bit of down-time. Charlie the cat is curled up on Clara’s pillow so she sits with him, ruffling his long, soft hair while Elisa gets comfortable on a chair near a bay window. She gazes out unseeingly for a while, snapping into focus when Owen, Jesse and Paul appear in the doorway of the barn for their smoke break. Elisa’s expression turns wistful as she watches them laughing and joking, shoving each other playfully like teenagers. The normality of their behaviour hits her in the gut like a sledgehammer, reminding her of how abnormal she is. The reminder, however innocent the men are in their banter, hurts. “Hey, what’s wrong?” As she always does, Clara notices immediately that something is eating at Elisa and moves to gently play with her loose hair as it hangs down by her shoulders. It’s a little longer than usual, but both girls like it.

“Will we ever be like that?”

Clara’s eyes follow Elisa’s out into the settled snow, landing on Jesse, Paul and Owen. The former has the latter in a headlock while Paul is doubled over laughing nearby. “You mean completely immature? I hope not.”

Elisa breathes out an amused sigh, glancing up at her sister, so confident and brave despite everything. Even now with the last of the bruises barely visible, a yellowy tinge on her cheek, she looks strong. Stronger than Elisa has any hope to ever be. Just once she’d like to be able to stand up for herself when it really matters. “You know what I mean. They’re normal and we’re…not.”

Shoving aside her own feelings, Clara focuses on Elisa’s, leaning down so her chin rests on wavy auburn locks and huffing out a gentle sigh. “Who cares about being ‘normal’? Normal’s not so great. I’d rather not be.” Even as they both hear the words neither girl believes them. What Clara and Elisa wouldn’t give to just be normal again for one single day.

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A little excerpt

An excerpt from Pinky Promises.

Eastbourne Police Station – May 1st 2003

 

Hushed murmurs filled the space decked out in policeman-blue, the large symbol of the Sussex police front and centre. A table sat nondescriptly in front of it, a cluster of microphones already set up there. The extensive gathering of journalists was squeezed into the biggest room available, the first row of seats scant feet from the table. The air crackled with tension and curiosity, sadness prevailing when the first sob of many to come could be heard from the door to one side. As a policeman of considerable standing stepped through the threshold he was followed by two distraught men – one of which had a younger, equally as upset, man at his side. Cameras clicked feverishly as the quartet took their seats, the officer to the left while the others sat beside each other in a silent show of support.

The man beside the officer, James Delaney, had one hand clenched on his thigh and the other reaching up every few seconds to tug on his short crop of strawberry-blond curls. Blue-green eyes filled with anguish and heartache were identical in emotion to the dark brown ones of his sixteen year old son, Archie, and the grass-green ones of his childhood best friend, Peter Harrison, the man on the end. As someone stepped forward to briefly speak to the journalists snapping away the three men shared a resolute look. It said everything words couldn’t at that moment. We’ll stick together. It’ll be ok. We’re on your side. Ignore the cameras. Get this done. We will find them.

Then, it was time.

All over the country -and others surrounding England, too-people watched as first James, then Peter, pleaded with them for information. Cried tears telling of their pain and heartbreak. As they desperately tried to convey just how much they longed for the crucial details the case hinged on. Parents hugged their children close, unable to comprehend how James and Peter must be feeling as they stared down the lenses of multiple cameras and begged for the return of two much-loved family members. It seemed that the audience of millions tuning in to watch the conference silenced in unison as Archie Delaney coughed quietly, fixing his rich, dark, agonised eyes on the cameras. They spoke of more misery than imaginable – it turned dry eyes into pools of sympathy. Then he spoke.

“If you can hear me…I miss you Clara, Elisa.” Silence rang out in the conference room. “Your cookies are still on the coffee table waiting for you,” he choked out through a rasped breath, feeling like his throat was closing up. “I didn’t touch them, like I promised. El, your stupid rat chewed up my controller again. You’re gonna pay for that when you get back.” Archie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo, holding it up after giving it a brief glance. An officer quickly slid it into place on a projector, casting it on the wall behind the four men at the table. Three toothy grins shone brightly, bringing even the stonier people in the room to near-tears if not drenching their faces in them. “Get your butts back here, squirts.” Everyone waited with baited breath as he sucked in air through his teeth, two tears tumbling in synchronisation down his cheeks as he gritted out, “you made me pinky promise we’d go swimming now I’ve got that job at the pool, remember? You can’t break pinky promises.” His fierce statement was punctuated by a painful sob.

The conference was eventually pulled to a close and the man were escorted away from the flashing cameras and calls of the journalists. At the back of the room a single man armed with a notepad and a quest for vengeance watched the fathers and brother leave, hanging onto their renewed hope. Sombre, almost black eyes flashed with long-buried sorrow before resolute determination clouded them. He took one last glance at the ‘missing’ poster on the wall near his head, memorising the faces of the eight year old girls cruelly stolen away from their families.

Little did they know then that the story of Clara Delaney and Elisa Harrison’s disappearance would go unsolved until well into the next decade.

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Pinky Promises

“Clara Delaney and Elisa Harrison are a lot of things.

They are nearly seventeen years old. They are best friends and pseudo sisters. They are night and day in regards to appearance – one strawberry-blonde, one auburn haired. By far the most shocking thing about them is that they are the motherless kidnap victims of a deranged man with a lifelong vendetta against an innocent father.

For nine long years an icy fist has gripped the reins. Now we’ll watch as the rightful hands take them back.”

Pinky Promises is one of a few novels I have written but by far my favourite, and in my opinion my best work. It is about the troubles faced by two teenage girls who were kidnapped aged eight and held captive on another continent for nearly a decade.

The cover below was made by MyCalmInsanity on Wattpad, and the link to the story itself is directly below.

http://www.wattpad.com/story/4801186-pinky-promises