We can just make him out. A vague figure looming in the gloom of the disused cotton mill. We knew he’d be here.
We’d threaded together strands of information, tip-offs and hunches; clues, no matter how nebulous. Months of painstaking work by our dedicated officers has brought us here, the place where he controls his evil operation. We have a job to do. An arrest to make. Victims of his sordid contemptible business to rescue.
Soon you’ll be free. Soon. I promise.
My head’s reeling with nervous excitement. ‘Five’ I whisper, ‘four, three, two, one…’
‘GO GO GO’ I yell.
Word count 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle. Sandra Crook has provided this week’s photo.
Prod the frog to find more stories!