by David Rose
those chains... it would take too long.
Almost hyperventilating she ran up the steps inside the house, following her nose towards where she'd last seen Sam - and there he was!
"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" she called, falling to her knees beside him. His dear freckled face, fast asleep. Her heart hammered, adrenalin making her tremble. How long before Miss Guyot returned? Becky just knew that it wouldn't be long before it occurred to Miss Guyot that she needed to 'tidy up'.
She heaved at Sam, but he just lolled back.
"Sam!" she screamed in his face, wondering for a crazy moment if she should kiss the sleeping Prince. Then she gathered herself and slapped him. But that wasn't hard enough, so she slapped him again, much harder. His head just flopped to the other side. He wasn't going to wake.
"I'll have to drag him," she thought to herself, and quailed. Sam might not be tall, but he was pretty well-built. Not a lightweight. Becky grabbed his arms and heaved him towards the edge of the couch. Then she rolled him over, and he thudded to the carpet. She cringed as she saw his head bounce. "Move!" her inner self told her with rising urgency. She took his ankles and heaved. He moved perhaps an inch or two - if that wasn't just his clothes shifting on his body. This wasn't going to work.
"Maybe if I put him on a sheet or something?" she wondered out loud.
The sound of an engine penetrated her awareness. The Porsche!
"Oh, God," Becky whimpered. She knew she had seconds left, not even minutes.
There was only one thing she could do.
She pulled the couch aside. She rolled Sam against the wall, even now trying to make sure she wasn't hurting him. She pushed the couch back in front of him, hiding him. She moved towards a linen cupboard she'd seen in the passage, but then stopped and grabbed Sam's empty glass from the coffee table. Then she folded herself into the space at the bottom of the cupboard. If only she was a little thinner, she wished, but then pushed that thought aside and concentrated on pulling the door as closed as she could, and on keeping quiet.
Brisk steps passed her, making for the lounge.
"Mon Dieu! Où... est-il parti?" and then Miss Guyot was rushing back down the passage.
A police siren whooped briefly from the driveway outside.
"Non, non!"
Becky smiled, and uncurled herself from her hiding place.
At the far end of the passage Miss Guyot stood, half-turned back, hate-filled green eyes watching her climb to her feet, face twisted and ugly.
"You should have left my Sam alone," Becky told her.
### THE END ###
A note from the author:
Thank you for reading this story - I really hope you enjoyed it. What about leaving a review to tell others what you thought of the book? Whether it's a good or a bad review doesn't matter: hearing what readers honestly think is good for a writer, and for other readers.
If you would like to learn something more about the author, visit my website. You can find other books I have written, and also discover some unpublished writing, and inside previews of books I am working on.
My email address is [email protected]. I welcome feedback, including useful criticism.
Other stories you may enjoy:
Dragonfire - Short story: SF / Fantasy crossover techno-thriller
Moonlight - Novella: YA fantasy romance
Living on the Knife's Edge - Short story: Contemporary romantic drama
Pocket-sized Yarns (Athena Crowley and others) - I contributed to this excellent collection of Indie micro-stories. You'll struggle to pick a favorite!