This is not where I want to be, and frankly right now I’d prefer to be back home slouching on the sofa, with a cool Chardonnay and some fancy canapés.
Why did I answer the damn phone? Normally if I don’t recognise the number I don’t even bother answering. Too many cold callers or nuisance calls.
When the call came I must have been distracted, because I had answered before even realising the phone was in my hand.
“Who’s this? I replied.
“You don’t know me …”
Then I looked briefly at the caller ID .
“Goodbye, have a good day, I don’t reply to strangers.” My finger reached for the disconnect button.
Then I heard Claire’s unmistakeable screams.
“Don’t hang up the phone Mr Clemence. Your wife’s welfare depends on your compliance.”
I brought the phone back to my ear, while my gut started to wrench.
I desperately tried to catch my breath.
“Come alone, straight away, to Leafy Hollow. When you get there I’ll text you further instructions.”
The line went dead.
So here I am.
Hearing noises I turn around and catch a glimpse of my wife, arm in arm with some guy.
I wonder why she has a gun in her outstretched hand? That is my very last thought.
“I told you that would get his attention,” she said, laughing.
This weeks Sunday Photo Fiction has been written away from home as I’m up in Scotland for a short break.
The prompt is © A mixed Bag, 2014