“I’ve tested your restraint long enough. I traced Patrick’s research. He was right. Helen Reid and Horace were married, and your marriage was never legal. The guy who performed your wedding was the accountant of the NGYD group in Waitakere Flats. The police are looking for him now.”
“Does that mean I’m now officially Elise Seagar?”
“Elizabeth Seagar, yes.”
“That’s what I meant, Elizabeth.” Isn’t it funny that the name Elizabeth has lost its unpleasant association since Sky showed us the child a few days ago?
“It’ll take a while for the authorities to correct the records with your legal name. To trace where your parents’ assets disappeared to is a more complicated matter, but I’m sure we’ll sort that out. The land register lists West Coast Holdings as the owner of the house you lived in with Horace and Helen Reid. The company is a subsidiary of… Let me not bore you with details. Just know that I’m onto it. It’s difficult to follow the money trail, but I’m confident I’ll succeed with that.”
Thomas Aldercroft is not just a pretty face, by the looks of it. Elise thought he’s younger than her. I think he’s in his early thirties. Sometime soon he’ll have to tell me how he and Scott became friends.
“What’s missing is evidence of the historical child abuse and the sex trafficking.” Just hearing the words turns our stomach to mush again. Some people say it gets easier the more you talk about it. I’m still waiting for that to happen.
“Unless the children from the boat talk, depending on how much they were brainwashed, we are not much further with that side.” Scott is forking a huge piece of the steak into his mouth. I struggle to concentrate on what he says while most of the tribe watches in disgust how he tackles the near raw piece of meat, leaving a pool of blood on his plate.
“Didn’t they find the seaplane that waited for us?”
“Not that I know. We can only hope Helen will spill the beans during the interrogations. She better talks if she wants a lenient sentence.”
Thomas swallows the last bit of his steak and puts his cutlery down. “From here on I see my main task as following the trail of your parent’s assets. I thought it would be interesting to see what the connections of the New Gateways group are. Who owns what, how they are structured? They operate a registered rehabilitation and education center for young people. There must be information I can access.”
“When Elise is ready, we’ll collect names and dates of what happened, who was involved, and so forth. Whatever she remembers. Maybe that’ll give us a hint in which direction to look further.” Scott looks at me as if he wants to gauge the depth of my cooperation.
The thought of going back into my childhood memories causes an immediate exodus of parts. I can see them speeding into their rooms in the tree house. It makes me grin. It’s like the rats leaving a sinking ship. Well, we aren’t rats, and we aren’t cowards, but when Elise is ready might be a bit further away than Scott imagines.
Chapter Thirty-One
Elise: 4 February 2016, Wright’s Homestead
Almost three months ago we left Waitakere Flats and came to Wright’s Homestead. Is it possible? It feels like a century has passed since. My life with Horace and Helen has become part of a distant past, unreal, like a bad dream that leaves a bad taste in my mouth every time I think about it. Putting a full stop at the end of the last thirty years wasn’t easy. It shaped us in so many ways. Nowadays we all work hard to move on.
Through the open door I hear Prince in the backyard, chasing the wind, or loose leaves, or the scent of a wild rabbit. Now and then he strolls in and checks on me, something he started to do since the kidnapping two months ago. He nudges his cold nose against my arm to score a reassuring scratch behind his ears.
My hands glide over the piece I’m working at. It will be my best yet and not for sale like the others I’ve sold in the Galleria in Port Somers. It’s a modest income, but it pays for the essentials I need.
I put the shuttle aside and thread a fat strand of raw sheep wool through the weft. This new piece is special. It stands for a new beginning, for my time at Wright’s Homestead. The sheep wool stands for Scott, who is still asleep upstairs in the second bedroom, the one that auntie Amanda used.
He stays with me two nights a week and calls it searching for proof days. At first, I didn’t like it. But he’s respectful and never asks, always waits for me to bring up issues, which often I don’t. I appreciate that he’s not ripping apart the fabric of my protection. We’ve agreed to wait for memories to surface without any prodding.
I started this weave with a patch in lots of different shades of purple. It represents Miss Marple. Scott asked her to visit after they released us from prison. She stayed with us for three days. I wish she could have stayed longer, but she only had the weekend. I’m glad she came at all and helped us to process more of the trauma memories.
In most of those sessions, she worked with Maddie and Amadeus. I wasn’t aware of how much trauma both carried. They worked hard and I’m very proud of them. Miss Marple was full of praise about our progress and often said, “I’m amazed by how far you’ve come.”
I don’t think I did anything out of the ordinary. The moment I decided to get to know the Tribe, it happened by itself, like cogs aligning in a complicated machine learning
