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Weekly Contest #272
The porch light clicks on as Callie sets her foot on the bottom step. She freezes. On either side of the screen door is a hanging basket, thick with petunias, the colour hard to discern in the glare of the security light. Liam whimpers in her aching arms. The taxi driver couldn’t, wouldn’t take them beyond the driveway gate. She left the car in the little town five miles away, at the end of a cul-de-sac, in case there’s a tracker in it, which is ludicrous for a nine-year-old Honda Civic, but she doesn’t put anything past Dale. She dropped he...
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