Try, Try Again

 Dad took Mom fly fishing. Someplace watery and peaceful.

He seems to be ‘taking her away’ a lot. Between you and me, I think he’s trying to preserve her mental health.
Sometimes, I wish he’d take me and Peter away as well.

Especially today.

First little background…

We live in Sally’s house. She bought it with her first paycheck from her first movie. (I guess it’ll come as no surprise when I tell you she is well-paid.) It is the largest in the neighbourhood and looks—from the outside—fairly grand.

On with my story:

The day started as days do—tranquil. Quiet.

With a couple of my windows open, I could hear the birds singing madly in the backyard. It was such a … peaceful sound.

I could faintly hear Sally and Mort downstairs laughing and banging pots and pans. Probably stirring up breakfast in their kitchen. The four of us (them, Peter, and I) had stayed up quite late watching old horror movies. Then, when discussion of the ridiculous and very unlikely rescue of the heroine by an overly-agile leading man had grown heated, Sally had taken it upon herself to prove to the rest of us that it could be done.

Peter hadn’t even gone out the door till after 1.

I stretched and reveled in being able to spend a few more peaceful minutes in bed.

And that’s when said peace was shattered.

I told you Sally earns quite a bit of money.

Well, she does.

And that’s my theory for what happened…happening.

The garden door to my room burst open. Now, normally, when something like this happens, Sally is the figure entering.

What came in was—definitely not Sally.

Nope. Three large figures, dressed head to toe in camo, toting weapons and sporting the very latest in total-head-coverings.

Not what usually steps in from the garden.

Did you know hearts can stop from sheer surprise?

Well, I’m pretty sure mine did.

I didn’t even get a chance to react. One of them—I’m assuming the ringleader—pointed to me and one of the other guys scooped me up. The third fastened my hands together with a zap strap and then ‘scooper guy’ threw me over his shoulder.

The force with which I hit that hard shoulder drove the breath from my lungs. But, still, I managed a fairly credible scream.

The ringleader spun around and motioned to my mouth.

The third guy applied a gag (emphasis on ‘gag’) and the three of them--and me--continued forward.

All of this took place in near silence. I mean, these guys were big and still they hardly made a sound!

We left my room and made our way up the hallway to the kitchen.

My scream must have alerted Mort. He had just reached the top stair. “SALLY! CODE RED!” he shouted as the leader pounced.

Man, that guy could move!

The man thumped Mort on the head and my gangly brother-in-law went down in an unconscious heap.

The other two looked at their leader and he motioned toward Mort’s hands and face.

Another zap strap and gag were applied. Though what they thought Mort would do when he was unconscious, I’ll never know. He struggles when he's awake.

We left Mort and started down the stairs. Me, still draped like an old carpet over second guy’s shoulder.

In my summer Pj’s which had been entirely adequate for sleeping—in the summer—but which were totally inadequate for a kidnapping.

Sigh.

We stepped out of the curve of the stairs.

At this point, most of the downstairs apartment is open to view. I guess that’s what ‘open concept' means.

Sally was nowhere in sight.

I blinked—the only part of me I could still move.

“Sally!” the ringleader said in a warning tone. “We’ve got your sister!”

I felt suddenly chilled, wishing I was the aforementioned old carpet.

And that an army platoon or two would appear out of nowhere.

The men spread out.

I don’t know where she came from, but suddenly Sally was there, swinging a heavy frying pan.

It connected solidly with the noggin of the third man and, like Mort before him, he dropped like a stone.

Still carrying the pan, Sally leaped over him and darted up the stairs.

The ringleader charged up after her.

So much for ‘We’ve got your sister…’

I didn’t see what happened, but I heard it. There was a heavy thud and boss guy slid down several steps and into our view, bleeding profusely from a crease in the side of his head.

Second guy let out a bellow, dropped me without even a by-your-leave, and he, too, started up the stairs.

Now, call me stupid, but something told me I needed to see what happened next, so I crept up the stairs behind him.

Just in time to see Sally swing down from the top of the stairs on the rope she had attached to the chandelier to prove her point the night before.

The point being someone could swing from a rope and accomplish an almighty rescue.

I’ll never question again.

Remember when I said these guys were packing heat?

Well, up till this time, their guns had remained holstered. I guess they thought Sally would be easy pickings.

Wrong. Remember the kidnapping attempt when she was filming in Brazil? Yeah. That.

Sally swung down in an arc and hit the guy just as he was pulling his gun.

Right in the chest.

The guy, not the gun.

He performed a spectacular back flip, right into the front door, which burst open, spilling him, unconscious, into the glorious morning light.

The light caressed his black hood and pristine camos like warm honey.

When Mom and Dad got back that evening, Sally was giving me a manicure at the kitchen table. Peter was hovering close by. Something about 'not wanting to let me out of his sight ever again'.

Mort had gone to bed early, claiming a headache.

Once more, it was peaceful.

Serene, even.

Mom hung her purse from a hook in the front hall closet and turned to us. “Hello, my sweethearts!” she said brightly. “We had a glorious day! How was yours?” 

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post—all words to be used at least once. All the posts are unique as each writer has received their own set of words. And here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. 

My words: fly fishing ~ manicure ~ tranquil ~ ringleader were sent to me, via Karen, from my good friend, Rena! Thank you, Sweet Girl!

See what my friends have done with their words!

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