Chapter 4: The Investigation

A little over two weeks after the regionals, the barn at Smith Ranch was a hub of activity and training. Swift Wind, now with her new piercings and bells, is a testament to dedication, keeping pace with me even blindfolded. Our training sessions have become a daily routine, a dance of discipline and skill.

It’s during one of these ordinary days that the extraordinary happens. While I’m cleaning the barn, absorbed in my thoughts, a voice shatters the calm. “I know it was you.”

Startled, I let out an involuntary squeak of surprise and spun around. Standing there, at the entrance of the barn, is the woman from the regionals, her eyes fixed on me with an accusatory glare. I struggle to find my voice, the shock rendering me momentarily speechless. “I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, trying to sound more confident than I feel, my heart racing.

The woman takes a few steps closer, her expression unyielding. “At the regionals. The bells, the way you move. It was you, wasn’t it? You pretended to be Swift Wind. You were the one at the regionals. The bells, they were Isabella’s,” she accuses, stepping closer with a determined look.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel a cold sweat forming. This is the moment I feared, the confrontation I expected but wasn’t prepared for. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “You’re mistaken about me being at the regionals,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I was here at the ranch. I wasn’t at the regionals. I try to maintain my composure, despite the fear gnawing at me. “Those bells were forced on me when I was abducted. They’re just bells, nothing special.”

She narrows her eyes, assessing my response. “I’ve been around ponygirls long enough to know when something’s off. Your story doesn’t add up. And those bells ... they were unique to Isabella’s ponies.” The woman isn’t convinced. In a sudden move, she steps forward and cruelly pinches my nipples, causing me to scream out in pain. Before I can react, she rips off my bikini top and tugs harshly at the bells, eliciting another scream from me.

The pain is blinding, and I’m frozen in shock. But the commotion draws attention. Mr. Marshall and a few other trainers rush into the barn, reacting swiftly to the scene.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Mr. Marshall bellows as he and the other trainers grab the woman, pulling her away from me.

“I’m proving a point! That’s the girl from the regionals! Those are Isabella’s bells!” she shouts, struggling against their grip.

“You’re right, those are the bells Isabella forced on Lisa. That doesn’t prove she was the one at regionals.” Mr. Marshall’s eyes filled with a mix of anger and concern as he looked at me. “Are you okay, Lisa?”

I’m trembling, tears streaming down my face, trying to cover myself with my arms. “I ... I think so,” I manage to say, still in shock from the assault.

The trainers restrain the woman firmly, ensuring she can’t cause any more harm. Mr. Marshall turns to one of them. “Call the sheriff. We need to report this assault.”

As the woman is taken away, still protesting loudly, Mr. Marshall stays by my side, offering his jacket to cover me. The others return to their duties, but the tranquility of the barn has been shattered. The reality of our situation has never felt more dangerous.

In the aftermath, as I stood there trying to calm my racing heart, the implications of what just happened began to sink in. Our secret is hanging by a thread, and the risks we face are now painfully clear.

In the barn, the atmosphere is tense as the trainers hold the woman firmly, awaiting the arrival of the sheriff. Her accusations still hang in the air, a palpable threat to the carefully maintained secret of my identity.

Mr. Marshall, seeing my distress, stayed close, offering words of comfort. “It’s going to be okay, Lisa,” he assures me in a steady voice, though concern is etched deeply on his face. Still topless and exposed, I clutch Mr. Marshall’s jacket around me, the bells on my nipple rings a stark reminder of the ordeal I just endured.

Moments later, Mr. Smith rushes into the barn, his expression one of deep worry. Without hesitation, he scoops me up in his arms, a protective gesture that speaks volumes of his care for me. He carries me out of the barn, away from the chaos and prying eyes, towards the sanctuary of his house.

As we enter his office, Mr. Smith gently sets me down on the couch. The room is quiet and private, a stark contrast to the turmoil of the barn. “You’re safe here, Lisa,” he says softly, his eyes meeting mine with a reassuring calm.

Still trembling from the shock, I try to find my voice. “I ... I didn’t expect her to ... to do that,” I stammer, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in.

Mr. Smith nods, understanding the gravity of what has happened. “We’ll handle this, Lisa. Right now, you just need to rest and recover.”

He steps out of the office for a moment, returning shortly with a blanket and a glass of water. Draping the blanket over me, I remove Mr. Marshall’s jacket and hand it to Mr. Smith to return it. He offers me the water, his actions gentle and caring.

As I sit on the couch, wrapped in the blanket, the events of the day replay in my mind. The fear, the pain, and the potential fallout from the woman’s accusations loom over me. In Mr. Smith’s office, I find a moment of respite, a brief pause in the storm that has become my life.

In Mr. Smith’s office, I sit on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, as Mr. Smith speaks reassuringly, “Lisa, after calling the police, I contacted your lawyer. She’s already on her way and will be here soon to guide you through the questioning.”

Still shaken, I nod my gratitude. “Thank you ... I’m just so overwhelmed by all this.”

Moments later, the sound of vehicles outside announces the arrival of the police and my lawyer, a woman with a sharp, professional demeanor. She enters the office, immediately going to my side. “Lisa, I’m here to ensure your side is properly heard and that you’re treated fairly.”

As two police officers enter, one of them, a seasoned officer, addresses me. “We need to ask you about the assault. Can you tell us what happened?”

Lisa’s lawyer interjects, “Officers, please be mindful that my client is still in therapy due to her recent abduction and may be under considerable stress.”

Acknowledging the lawyer’s caution, the officer nods and turns his attention back to Lisa. “Can you tell us anything about the woman who attacked you?”

Gathering my strength, I begin, “Yes, I recognize her. She’s a friend of Harriet Hargrove, one of the people who kidnapped me. I saw her at Harriet’s ranch.”

The revelation brings a new seriousness to the officers’ demeanor. “This is potentially related to your kidnapping case then? It’s important we get all the details.”

I recount the assault, my voice steady but filled with emotion. “She accused me of being at the regionals, then attacked me, pinching and pulling at my piercings.”

Her lawyer adds, “It’s clear this assault is not just a random act but tied to her past trauma. My client must be protected from further harm linked to her abduction.”

The officers took detailed notes, their expressions were solemn. “We’ll make sure this is investigated thoroughly, considering the connection to your kidnapping,” one of them assures me.

After the questioning, the officers step outside to confer with each other, leaving me with my lawyer and Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith’s concern is evident as he speaks, “We’ll get through this, Lisa. You’re not alone.” I feel a mix of fear and reassurance. The situation is daunting, but with my lawyer and Mr. Smith’s support, I find a measure of comfort amid the chaos.

Just as the officers exit, Mr. Marshall steps into the office, his expression a blend of relief and seriousness. He picks up the jacket he wrapped around me, puts it on, and says, “The police have taken that woman into custody. They’ve arrested her and charged her with criminal trespassing and aggravated assault on a minor.”

I exhale a small sigh of relief, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders, albeit slightly. Mr. Smith nods in acknowledgment, his gaze still fixed on me with concern.

My lawyer, seizing the moment to add a crucial piece of information, turns to Mr. Marshall. “Mr. Marshall, Mr. Smith, it’s important to note that Lisa identified the woman as being present on Harriet Hargrove’s ranch during her captivity. This assault wasn’t just a random act; it’s connected to her kidnapping ordeal.”

Mr. Marshall’s eyebrows raise in surprise, processing the gravity of this revelation. “That’s a significant detail. I’ll make sure the officers are aware of this connection. It could change the entire dynamic of the investigation.”

Still shaken but feeling supported by the people around me, I nod in agreement. “Yes, I remember her. She was definitely there. It’s not a face I can easily forget.”

The lawyer pats my hand reassuringly. “We’ll make sure the police understand the full context. This isn’t just an isolated incident; it’s part of a larger, more disturbing pattern.”

Mr. Smith, standing up, addresses the room. “We’ll do everything we can to support Lisa through this. Let’s make sure she gets the care and protection she needs.”

With the immediate crisis addressed, there’s a sense of collective resolve in the room. The path ahead may be fraught with challenges, but I am no longer facing them alone. My ordeal has brought to light deeper issues that demand attention, and with the support of Mr. Smith, Mr. Marshall, and my lawyer, I’m poised to face them head-on.

After my encounter with the woman, I was unable to focus on my duties so I asked Mr. Marshall to put my tack on me and take me out to train. Even though Mr. Smith had requested that I wear clothes while working, I found it impossible to switch my mindset to ponygirl mode while wearing my bikini. I insisted on removing it before allowing Mr. Marshall to put my harness on.

“Lisa, you know that your bikini is all that separates you from the real ponies when you are exercising. If you continue to insist on training as naked as the ponies then you will be treated as one of them each time you train,” Mr. Marshall explained to her.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Marshall rubbed me down with sunscreen before putting my harness on and tightening the buckles. He had replaced my ‘employee’ boots with my thinner ponygirl boots. Once my hands were secure behind my back and my bit and bridle were secure I was led outside. I saw that Swift Wind was waiting. Our harnesses and bridle were connected together and I was blindfolded as Swift Wind was. Since I returned from the regionals, blindfolded is the only way that Swift Wind trains. They are trying to get her training up to my level. We have been training together every day since my return.

With someone, most likely Mr. Marshall, holding our leads we were led to the Dressage course first. I knew this course so well that I could see it in my mind but we still followed the leads and voice commands. I don’t believe I did anything wrong but I still felt the whip on my back and butt. I heard Swift Wind receiving the same treatment. After what seemed like a couple of hours, we were attached to a sled that was almost too heavy for the two of us to pull and we were told to run as fast as we could for as long as we could. We were guided by the reins that had been attached to our bridles. My legs strained against the weight of the sled and I struggled to pull it. Occasionally I could feel my hooves slipping on the hard-packed soil of the race track.

I knew that Swift Wind trained while I worked in the barn so her stamina had increased in the last two weeks. She was able to keep up with me so much better. I don’t know how many laps we did but we ran as fast as we could until we were too exhausted to pull it, even though it became easier to pull it once we overcame the initial friction of the sled against the dirt surface. We were given the command to walk and we were led back to the barn. The sled was removed and we were allowed some time the rest.

We were then attached to a double sulky and ran hard around the track. I could hear others racing beside us. With a flick of the reins and a verbal command, we leaned forward and ran as if we were being chased by rabid dogs. We pushed our bodies to the limit for several minutes before we were given the command to walk. We walked what I guessed was an extra lap for a cooldown before we were brought back to the barn. Our blindfolds were removed and were freed from the sulky. I don’t know about Swift Wind, but I kept my eyes closed for a few seconds until they adjusted to the bright sunlight. Mr. Marshall led us into the barn to our respective stalls where someone had filled the food and water trays. I took a huge drink of water before I began eating; my hands still secured behind my back.

After lunch, Mr. Marshall asked, “Lisa, are you okay to go back to work or do you want to continue training with Swift Wind?”

“I’m feeling much better, Mr. Marshall but I’d like to keep training. If it’s okay would you mind if Swift Wind helped me clean the trays after lunch then we will be ready together.”

“I’m okay with it. The two of you have become a powerful team. What do you think about Swift Wind helping you with your chores in the morning then you two will train from lunch until dinner?” Mr. Marshall asked.

Swift Wind seemed okay with it as well. She came up behind me, rubbed her head against mine, and whinnied since she still had her bit in her mouth. “It looks like Swift Wind is okay with it, so I am as well,” I told him smiling and rubbing my head against Swift Wind returning her affection.

Mr. Marshall released our hands and we got to work. With the two of us working together, it didn’t take long. We were done in half the time I normally take. Not once did we get in each other’s way. We truly did work well together.

Mr. Marshall reconnected our bits and locked our hands behind our backs again. After reconnecting the chains between our harnesses and bridles he led us back outside. We repeated the same routine we did in the morning with the addition of the obstacle course. Even though we didn’t miss a step or hit anything we both still felt the whip occasionally.

We were both exhausted and sweaty by dinnertime. A surprise was waiting for us when we were led into the barn. While the grooms were removing the tack from the other ponies ours was not removed. We were still chained together with our hands behind our backs. Only our bits were removed so we could eat. Our trays were placed together on the cart I used to carry the full trays. Finally, after we had finished eating we were disconnected and our tack removed so we could shower. While we were taking turns washing each other I took a moment to admire her toned body. I realized how easy it would be to mistake us for twins.

Since my hair was shaved into a mohawk to look more like a horse’s mane like Swift Wind’s I looked just like a real ponygirl. We had the same hair color, the same skin tone including the same tan lines. We were the same height and when I compared her body to mine I noticed the breasts were the same size and our muscles were the same. The only difference I could see between us was her face had a few tells. Her eyebrows were just a bit thinker and her cheekbones were slightly more prominent than mine. She was also 10 years older than me but didn’t show it.

I was thinking about all of this while I was waiting for the hair removal cream to do its thing. This time it was applied to the sides of my head. It had been used there so often that my hair had only started to grow out in patches so Mr. Smith said to keep using it. I was saddened that I could no longer grow my hair back out. The bitches. I feel a little better knowing that Danica got what she was trying to do to me but my experience was such that I am having a hard time walking away from it. I love the exercise. I am in the best shape I have ever been in and don’t want to lose it yet I don’t want to give up my freedom.

Yesterday was Monday, the beginning of our current training regimen. Bound together by our chains and harnessed as if we were champion ponies, Swift Wind and I embarked on the next phase of our journey toward perfection. The restraints, though seemingly harsh, were not born out of cruelty but out of necessity, for Mr. Marshall believed that true synergy existed between us and it could only be achieved through such an intimate connection.

In addition to our bondage, our blindfolds were put on under the bridle to make sure they remained even when the bridle was removed for our showers. The blindfolds forced us to rely solely on our other senses. Every step, every stride, and every movement or action was a testament to the success of Mr. Marshall’s decision to this training method. The darkness behind the blindfold was not a hindrance but a catalyst for our heightened focus and trust. Trust in our trainers and trust in each other.

Our enforced bondage served a purpose beyond mere restriction; it symbolized the purpose that bound us together: the nationals. By the end of the week, we were no longer two individuals, but a singular entity working toward a common goal. Our steps so in sync sounded like a single step as we walked side-by-side, whether in the barn or on the training grounds. Each moment we were bound together, whether training, working, eating, or sleeping strengthened our bond to the point we began to think alike. After my victory at regionals, Swift Wind worked harder than any of the other ponies to earn the coveted spot at nationals: the winner’s circle.

As the days continued, our movements became fluid, our unspoken communication seamless, our bond unshakeable. We were no longer solo ponies but a seamless team propelled forward by the strength of our unity and the resolve to conquer any obstacle in our path.

When the week of this extreme method of training took place, I was able to hold to my free mind with the hope it would soon end. But it was not to be. On Saturday morning Mr. Marshall spoke to me while I was eating my breakfast.

“Last week was a test to see if Swift Wind was ready to compete for the winner’s circle at Nationals. Watching the two of you working as a team I am certain she can compete for a place at the podium but I am not certain she could win.

“I would like you to continue to train with her. Your presence calms her and motivates her to push herself to compete with you. Even though she is older than you she looks up to you as her role model. I know it is not fair to you that you go through the same training but don’t get to compete.

“Would you be willing to continue the tandem training method? We are planning to push you both to exhaustion right up until the week before Nationals at the end of the season. Thomas has agreed to take you with him to Las Vegas so you can watch her compete. She asked if you would be there. She said she would be proud to show you how good she is against the country’s best ponygirls.”

I loved Swift Wind and loved training with her but I was afraid to lose my free mind to the pony mind I developed during my captivity. After a few moments to think about it, I agreed for Swift Wind’s sake. I couldn’t let her down. “Yes, sir. I’ll do it for Swift Wind.”

I felt Swift Wind rub her head against mine showing her love and excitement for agreeing. I returned the gesture and felt my heart beat faster as I felt the love between us. Mr. Marshall replaced my bit and left us to take care of the morning chores. This continued throughout the weekend. Come Monday my happy little world came crashing down.

Monday started the same as last week. Swift Wind and I were doing our –my— chores when Mr. Marshall and Swift Wind’s usual train came running into the barn calling out to me.

“Lisa!” Mr. Marshall yelled out as he entered the barn. “Quick, Eric, disconnect the chains and take Swift Wind out to train with the others.” Eric did as he was instructed and left with a worried Swift Wind.

As Mr. Marshall began to quickly remove my bridle and harness he finally explained his excitement. “Lisa, an investigator is at the mansion asking Thomas questions about the regionals. That woman who was here a couple of weeks ago filed an official report against you and Thomas. After the tack was removed I quickly put on a bikini and T-shirt dress, swapped out the pony boots for my employee boots, and went back to work. Mr. Marshall stowed my gear in the tack room and came back out to talk to me while waiting for the investigator to show up.

It was another half hour before he finally showed up at the barn. I continued with my duties, I stopped what I was doing when the PRO investigator approached me with Mr. Smith following behind him; Mr. Marshall remained at my side.

“You are the investigator from PRO. I was told you were here. I’ve been expecting your visit.” I stated when he approached me in an attempt to control the situation and suppress my fear.

“I am Declan Cross. I don’t have an official title but my job is to investigate reports of violations of the Ponygirl laws. I am guessing that you are Lisa Parker.” Declan said in an unemotional tone of voice. not even offering to shake her hand. “I must inform you that as part of this investigation, I will be recording this interview”

I picked up on his lack of respect for me and wondered if he just didn’t care and would rather be somewhere else. “Yes, sir, I am Lisa Parker. I understand that you will be recording this conversation whether I approve or not.”

“Remover your top. I want to see the bells. Mr. Smith, would you have Swift Wind brought to me as well?” Declan ordered.

I looked at Mr. Cross and then Mr. Smith. “Jonathon, go get Swift Wind. Lisa, go ahead and do what Mr. Cross says,” Mr. Smith told me. I could see the worry and resignation in his face and body language. I slowly untied my top and removed it, letting it dangle from my right hand. I stood there topless in front of a total stranger knowing he held my future in his hands.

Mr. Cross stepped closer and gently held my bells in his hands. I watched as he inspected them closely. He used a small magnifying glass to look closer at the crest engraved on the bells. “I have studied Miss. Richardson’s family crest. The engraving on your bells is an exact copy. I have read the report on your abduction and know for a fact that these bells are indeed the bells of her family. That is to be expected in light of your abduction.”

He stepped up to Swift Wind and inspected her bells. “These bells are not Miss Richardson’s bells. They are imitations. The quality of the metal the bells are made of and the crest are inferior.

“While this is not proof enough to support the claim of Miss Parker pretending to be a pony and competing in a PRO-sanctioned event. Why does Swift Wind have almost identical jewelry on her nipples?”

Mr. Marshall spoke up. “Due to the almost twin-like appearance of the two Lisa and Swift Wind have developed a close bond. When Lisa was rescued and returned to the barn she decided to keep the rings and bells. To maintain the likeness between them Swift Wind asked to have her own. Mr. Smith approved it. We inquired about who did the jewelry for Isobella and had some made for Swift Wind. We asked that the same crest be put on Swift Wind’s but it was denied so we asked that a small error be added to make it close but not exact. The jeweler and Miss Richardson agreed to those terms.”

“I see. The report states that when Miss Beaumont inspected the bells at the regional, the crest was authentic. Miss Beaumont has been friends with Isabella Richardson’s family since childhood and is intimately familiar with the Richardson family crest. Her testimony and a picture we were able to retrieve from a spectator’s phone place you at the regionals, not Swift Wind. What do you have to say, Miss Parker?” Mr. Cross stepped back toward Mr. Smith after asking me that question. He pulled out his phone and showed me the picture he spoke of; among others showing me racing blindfolded and doing the dressage competition. They were clearly pictures of me competing and when I was sneaking off to the trailer after the police arrived and the officials were calling for pictures at the winner’s circle. I was busted. There was no way I could deny my guilt.

I thought about his question and chose to speak the truth rather than the lie we had concocted. “You are correct, Mr. Cross. I was the girl that competed and won at the competition,” I told him, lowering my head and crying; tears were running down my face and splatting on the floor in front of me.

“May I ask, Miss Parker, How did it make you feel being a ponygirl for a couple of days?” Mr. Cross inquired of me.

“When I came to this ranch to work and earn some money of my own, Mr. Smith told Mr. Marshall and me that I was required to exercise to strengthen my body. I was thin and weak. I had so little stamina that I tired quickly.

“I had some leg strength due to riding my bike for a couple of years. I haven’t been able to ride it since I started here. Mr. Smith required me to exercise to compensate for the lost exercise and to fill in where riding fell short.

“Mr. Marshall started me with sled pulling and carrying bags of horse feed on my shoulders. After a week of this, he became frustrated because helping me exercise was taking too much of his time so he decided to have me train with the ponygirls. Mr. Marshall became my groom and helped me with an extra harness that was available in the tack room.

“When he noticed the damage the ill-fitting harness was causing I was measured and a custom harness and bridle was ordered for me. I noticed a plaque on the front of the harness that said ‘Spirit’. Mr. Marshal explained that ‘a ponygirl harness can only be worn by ponygirls so I had to give them a name.’ He said that I showed a lot of spirit in everything that I do here so he picked that name.

“When I am training alongside the ponies I am treated as one of them. I don’t like the whip but my treatment allows for symmetry and reduces the chance of jealousy. Shortly after I started here there was an event that shocked me and I was unresponsive for several hours. When I was naked in the shower Mr. Smith showed up and whipped me severely with a flogger. He told me that no one was allowed to upset the ponies, it interferes with their training. He did this even though I am a minor and a free person. That is why I allow myself to be trained alongside the ponies as if I were one. It makes the ponies happy and has strengthened my relationship with them,” I explained in as much detail as I thought he needed.

“I see. So you admit that you were the person at the regional event and you were impersonating a real pony? Why would you do that?” he asked.

“During some intensive training to prepare Swift Wind for the event she injured her ankle. Since I was the one who spent the most time helping Swift Wind train, Mr. Smith became worried that he would have to skip the event and lose his chance to go to nationals.

“Mr. Cross, I like the training method and it has helped me grow strong. Doing something different makes me feel separate and lonely. I would prefer to remain free. I want to go to college. That is why I got this job in the first place. I chose to move in here and live on the ranch. Mr. Smith has taken guardianship of me and covers all of my expenses so I can save 100% of my pay. Please, sir, can I remain free?”

“With your testimony and the evidence we have, I can guarantee that you will be convicted of fraud by pretending to be a ponygirl at a PRO-sanctioned event.

“What course were you planning to take at college?” Mr. Cross asked.

“Before I came here, I was planning to be an accountant and work at my father’s firm but after being here and talking to the other ranch employees I changed my mind. In my free time, I have been helping the hands with the real horses and learning from them. So, I called the vocational school and they have a course called Equine Production. It qualifies a person for an entry-level position as a ranch hand. After several years of being a ranch hand, I can become a foreman. That’s what I want to do, sir,” I explained.

“I see. You seem to be strong-willed. Have you ever heard of the term FINO?” He asked.

“No, sir. What does it mean?” I asked.

“FINO is an acronym for Free In Name Only. F-I-N-O. It means that a person is registered as a ponygirl and can compete legally but will be able to act like a free person at times. If I can convince the judge I will recommend you become a FINO person. It is better than you becoming a full-time ponygirl and losing all of your freedom,” he explained.

My tears continued to fall. I was worried about what would happen to Mr. Smith since he was the one who asked me to do this. “What will happen to Mr. Smith?” I asked.

“That is up to the judge. He could be fined up to one million dollars, lose his license to house and train ponies forever, and spend time in jail. Or he could just be fined and be required to hand over all of the purses that you win for a specified amount of time. What you earn when not being a pony will go toward your fines as well if the judge agrees to the FINO option. If you are sentenced to be a full-time ponygirl you will be sold and be a ponygirl for the rest of your life. Mr. Smith will become responsible for your fines as well as his own.”