202 Red Gate - Michael J. Solender
“Two-oh-two, red gate,” Gina kept mumbling over and over as she came to from the sedation.
Osteen had been the primary nurse assigned to attending her, showing care and concern in blotting the sweat from her brow and turning her every hour since she was brought in by the police, suffering a near coma from the severe beating. It was a high profile kidnap case; the daughter of the World Bank CEO, whoever snatched her got scared and dumped her limp body in an obscure alley to be discovered by a street sweeper at 4:00 a.m. two days earlier.
“Why does she keep saying that, Doctor? What could it mean?” Osteen asked Dr. Worley.
At that very moment, on the other side of town, a police cruiser slowly pulled up to 202 Frawley and parked adjacent to the red gate. The cop got out slowly, as not to arouse the occupants. He ever-so-carefully cupped in his right hand what would soon be discharged into the bellies of each of the 202's residents. Finding the gate locked, the cop hesitated then yelled, “Kids, open the gate. I got pizza for supper!”
BIO: Michael J. Solender is a freelance writer based in Charlotte, NC. He writes a weekly Neighborhoods column for the Charlotte Observer and NEVER runs with scissors. His fiction has appeared online at 6S, Powder Burn Flash, A Twist Of Noir, Flashshot, Gloom Cupboard and Dogzplot (soon). He blogs here: not from here, are you?
21 hours ago