Flash Fiction Friday, Vol. 5

Current Facebook Status: wonders when they’ll come up with self-cleaning, self-pressing and self-folding clothes. Or when the Mary Poppins snappy thing will start working for her. Either one.
Currently Playing in the Background: Big Bang Theory, Season 2, Disk 4

Yay!  Flash Fiction Friday!  Love it!

Today’s prompt was the first two sentences. 🙂  Of course, now I have more ideas flying through my head…  Here’s Jan’s.

I reached blindly for the phone.  “At 3 am, either someone better be dead or this better be Lisa.”

“No,” the voice on the other end of the line whispered.  “It’s Debbie.”

Debbie?  The only Debbie I knew was my ex-girlfriend.  My very ex-girlfriend.

I sat up and ran a hand through my hair.  “What do you want?”

“I’m in trouble, Nick.  I need your help.”

I wasn’t going to turn her down.  She knew it and I knew it.  I sighed and looked at the decidedly unrumpled other side of the bed.  Even if Lisa did make it home before dawn, I wouldn’t be there.

“What happened?”

“Some guys kidnapped me.  They wanted me to, um…”  She hesitated.  “Sleep with some guy to keep him busy while they stole something from him.”

I already had my jeans back on.  “And they’re letting you call me?”

“No.  They don’t know I had my phone.  They didn’t search me very well.”

“Well, that’s one point in your favor.  Where are you?”  I pulled my shirt over my head and hoped I didn’t miss anything.

“I think I’m down near the docks in that empty warehouse near Bleacher Street.”

“I know the place.  Can you get away?”  I tied my shoes as fast as I could.

“I think I could,” she whispered.  “But I can’t.  If you can’t help me, then I don’t have a choice.  I’ll have to sleep with this guy and I don’t want to do that.  I haven’t slept with anyone since…”

She stopped.

Since me.

That’s what she meant.  She hadn’t slept with anyone since me.

“Just get away and don’t worry about it.”  I pushed the button for the garage door, my cell phone tucked beneath my ear.

“I can’t.  They have him.”

“Who?”

I could almost see her close her eyes and pray for strength, just as she had so many times when we were together – when she had something important to say.  “Nicolo.”

“Who?”  I started the car.

“Nicolo Masters DiMarco.  Your son.”

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About Carol Moncado

An aspiring author trying to traverse successfully through the wonderful world of publishing.
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