Fiction, Writing


The details Bessie had been given were sketchy, at best. She’s in the car, on the way to the designated meeting spot and recalls the conversation.

‘Meet at the docks,’ the voice said, after revealing the plan. It was a deep, husky tone; a male, Bessie surmised. ‘You know the place? Under the bridge?’

She knew the spot. The last place she’d seen David before he disappeared and where this all started.

’11PM. Don’t be late.’ The phone went dead.

Bessie slumped into the chair and sighed. She had four hours to prepare herself. But her brain was whizzing, jumping from thought to thought like a parkour champion. She needed to calm down. Focus. Devise her own plan to get David back.

She’s near the meeting point now. She slows the car to a stop, pulls on the handbrake. Getting out of the car, her eyes dart from side to side, surveying the space. There’s a dilapidated warehouse behind her. In the distance, she hears the song Jive Talking, by the Bee Gees.

That’s weird.

The music’s coming from the warehouse. Bessie starts to creep that way. David might be inside. She gets to the door, barely hanging from its hinges. The paint is flaky; the wood is splintering and ancient.

She pushes the door open, expecting it to fall down. She hears the crunch of gravel behind her and she steps into the darkness.


Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash



12 thoughts on “Rescue”

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