Ten Missing Children

  Ten Missing Children

  By

  Antony J Woodward

  Copyright Notice:

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  There is use of Pop Culture references, with no intention of copyright infringement and are merely used as references and do not claim any ownership of copyrighted material.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Notice:

  Whilst every care has been taken and every effort applied, there may still be the odd

  grammatical or spelling error in this book.

  Be sure to remember to leave a review on Amazon!

  Other Works by Antony J Woodward:

  The Black Winter

  P A R A D I S E

  The Mendacity Games

  I Am Pug

  P R O G E N Y

  Puss In Boots and the Werewolf Cult

  Puss In Boots and Frankenstein’s Monster

  Rewind

  P R O G E N I T O R

  Ten Missing Children

  Available on Amazon’s Kindle Store

  About the Author:

  Antony J Woodward lives in his hometown of Scunthorpe, with his Pug. A lifelong enthusiast

  for cathartic entertainment, he studied multimedia at college level before finding himself

  in the ever fascinating world of healthcare.

  He’s always excited to hear from you, so drop a message on twitter (@DirtyPrettyThin) or find him on Facebook.

  And please be sure to leave a review on Amazon!

  Dedicated to

  Lola,

  The child with four legs, a flat face and a curly tail.

  And Twiggy, Darcy and Gates,

  The little four legged lives taken too soon…

  WARNING:

  This book contains themes and scenes that some readers may find incredibly disturbing and upsetting.

  CHAPTER ONE:

  “But I like these ones…” the pout had appeared. The bottom lip had protruded and the promise of a sulk was on the horizon. The shoes in question were pink, characterised with some pink pig cartoon and were exorbitantly expensive. Terry Logan had balked when he turned the price tag. Twenty five pounds for a pair of children’s shoes? What was the world coming to?!

  He turned them over in his hand just to make sure they weren’t gold encrusted. They were indeed not.

  “No. They’re too expensive,” he answered.

  Christine, or Chris for short, turned her face to the floor and the shoulders sagged downwards too. She was five but that wouldn’t stop her from having a tantrum. Terry steeled himself.

  “Look. They’re too expensive. Find something else…” he carefully picked his words. He stooped to the five year old and tried to drag her attention to his face. She reluctantly looked at him. She was a pretty little girl, who would no doubt be one hell of a heart-breaker in her teens. Smooth round face, vivid dazzling blue eyes. Her mousey brown hair was cut in a bob, but it was far from the neat and tidy style she’d left the house with this morning. Chris looked like she’d spent a day on an assault course, not a day at school. Her hair was scraggly, her cheeks dirtied, felt tips had stained her hands and she had a gaping hole in the knee of her tights.

  “…You wanted fish and chips for tea didn’t you?” Terry changed tack. Chris nodded, still not straying from the brink of a sulk. “Well, I can’t afford fish and chips and those trainers…”

  It was perhaps a lie, but Terry was refusing to pay for the trainers on principle. He wasn’t about to be bullied into extortionate prices by a five year old, regardless what the manufacturers thought.

  Still no joy, but Terry sensed he was slowly starting to get through to her.

  “What do you like about them?”

  Chris shrugged, as kids could be so good for.

  “Is it because they’re pink?” Terry pushed.

  Chris hesitated and then nodded.

  “Well, let’s find some pink trainers!” He stood up.

  “I’ve got some,” Bridget extended a pair of trainers. Terry turned his attention to her and then the trainers. They looked like a sensible choice and as he turned the price tag he was gratified to acknowledge he was right. Fifteen quid was all the more reasonable. They were black with electric blue lines and a luminous blue sole. They were very-very Bridget.

  Bridget was the polar opposite of Christine, as sisters tended to be. Chris had a penchant for pink, glitter and cute things, Bridget was more interested in black, vampires and decidedly-less girly things. She was ten, but going on fifteen.

  She was tall; all legs. Her hair was cut in the same style as her younger sister, but it was in much better shape than her younger siblings. Bridget had a block of black hair under her mousey brown bob and boy had it ruffled a few feathers at school. Teachers had remarked that it was unsuitable for a ten year old to have her hair dyed. Terry had diplomatically explained that the dye was only semi-permanent, then argued that it was only black and not a shocking pink. He understood the school’s point of view, but he felt they were blowing it up well out of proportion. Terry hadn’t anticipated such a drama from it when he agreed to dye it. It had been what she wanted for her birthday. Both he and Matt had agreed to it.

  “Good choice,” Terry nodded and handed them back to her. He followed Chris back to the aisle of shoes and the pair of them picked out a more suitably priced pair.

  It took five minutes but eventually they settled on a neon pink trainers with a glittery Velcro strap. Terry discreetly placed the branded trainers back on the hook and ushered the kids towards the till.

  “Oh my god! Terry!” Chris shrieked suddenly. Terry’s first instinct was to check her over, thinking something was wrong. She spun on the spot and excitedly brandished the trainers. “They flash!” she squealed in a girly delight.

  Terry relaxed with a sigh and shook his head. A smile crept to his lips.

  “Look Bridget! Look!” Chris showed her older sister as they joined the queue at the till. Bridget faked the enthusiasm and the interest well.

  Stood in the queue, Terry had a private moment where he just watched the two girls. The smile reinforced itself on his face as he admired them both. They were such beautiful kids, and so full of character. Bridget was the too-cool-for-school personality, but when she let you in beyond those walls she was the funniest and sweetest soul you’d ever meet. Christine was brusque, directly driven to the point in that sweet way only kids get to be.

  A space appeared at a till and Terry pointed both kids in that direction.

  They bound up, Chris nearly throwing her shoes at the poor attendant in her excitement.

  The woman laughed and scanned the two pairs through the till.

  “Do you know?” Chris asked.

  “Know what?” she returned as Terry reached them.

  “They flash! Their soles, they flash!”

  The woman grinned, her face opening up handsomely. Her eyes drifted from the little girl to Terry. She took a split-second to adjust to him. He was used to that, it happened with a lot of strangers.

  Was it the tattoos? Was it the long hair? Perhaps it was the piercing light blue eyes? Either way, Terry Logan was used to drawing a second look.

  He was tall and thin, though not completely skeletal. He had a handsome boyish face, a face that had never
suited facial hair despite his numerous attempts over the years. His slender and chiselled jaw, met with a neck of tattoos. Tattoos that continued down his body to his naval and down both his arms. He even had tattoos on the back of his hands and on his knuckles. There was a lot of ink on Terry and he couldn’t hide it. His body was a patchwork of dragons, tribal designs and stars. His favourite tattoo was over his left breast, it was a slender dragon curling around itself. As he placed his bank card in the machine, the woman clocked the words “Good” and “Love” written on his knuckles. He entered his PIN.

  His long brown hair was pulled into a messy top knot on the top of his head. It had been his style long before it came into fashion. If anything he resented the new adopters of the style, they were emulating him and he felt a little drowned out. Nothing like a flood of hipsters to take the fun out of your niche.

  He replaced his wallet back into his skinny jeans and adjusted his dark green hooded top as he did so.

  “Are we not getting a bag?” Christine suddenly turned her attention to Terry as the cashier slid the shoes towards them. Her face burrowed into a serious frown.

  “I think you can manage to carry them to the car,” Terry returned with a smile.

  “Thank you,” He nodded to the cashier and the trio left the store.

  They crossed the car park, feeling the evening beginning to draw in in the air. He adjusted his hoodie again, pulling the zip up higher too.

  He unlocked the car door as the girls reached it.

  His car was still taking some getting used to. He’d changed from a little Mini six months ago, this Focus felt like a tank in comparison. It was a brilliant purchase and a worthy investment for sure, yet he missed his little Mini. He’d had that car a decade, his little green pea as he’d affectionately called it. Now he was owner of one blue brute. Five doors, more space and improved engine power didn’t quite take the sting out of it.

  “Careful!” Terry shouted as Christine nearly swung her door into the car beside her.

  “…Kids,” he sighed as he approached. He manoeuvred around the door and buckled her in. He then closed the door and scanned the other car. No scratch, thank god for that.

  He climbed into the driver seat, barely managing to shut the door before a CD was thrust into his face.

  “No!” Christine cried as Terry took the CD. He ejected the CD currently in the sound system, replaced it with the new one. As he put on his seat belt the player began to read the disc. “C’mon you know it’s Bridget’s turn. Your turn was on the way to the shop, Bridget’s on the way home…” he reminded calmly.

  The sound of The Kills filled the car.

  Terry began to pull out of the parking bay. He spied Christine’s bottom lip was jutting out again, as she idly appraised the trainers in her hand. She was tired, she was one hell of a sulky child when tired. Bridget’s eyes had closed and she was losing herself in the bliss of indie music. She, like Terry, had endured the millionth run through of the Frozen soundtrack on the way to the retail park, she was now rewarded with decent music. Terry enjoyed Bridget’s taste in music much more than Christine’s. He had perhaps been a little dishonest with the sharing of the music in the car. He had deliberately given Christine the journey to the store because it was shorter than the trip home.

  By the time he’d entered the flow of early-evening Mancunian traffic Christine was absorbed in the sparkling lights of her shoes, the pout already lost to history. Bridget was humming along with the lead vocalist.

  Familial bliss.

  ---------------------------------------

  The family home was a nice slice of English suburbia. It was a decently sized house. A three bedroom semi detached. A concrete drive out the front, complete with pebble driveway. Terry had tried sprucing it up with a few potted plants but only one remained. Two had been lost, casualties of pulling too quickly into the drive in the black of night. He’d never got round to replacing them. So instead, a solitary green bush stood conspicuously by the front door. The drive was wide, accommodating a built on garage. The garage wasn’t used as a garage in the slightest, it was a store room for all sorts of junk. As Terry pulled into the drive there wasn’t anybody else home. He pulled into his usual spot, daring not to park anywhere else. Last time he’d parked in a spot different to his own unofficial designation his Mini had needed a bit of work. Matt had rear ended it. So it was safer all round if he just stuck to the rules. He parked the car, turned and released Christine’s seatbelt.

  The kids were already out of the car, slamming the doors violently, before he could climb out himself. They waited at the front door till Terry undid the lock, then they rushed inside and charged into the depths of the house.

  Terry had a little glance up and down the street. Nobody was out. It was a quiet street, quaint in an English kind of way. He knew only his next door neighbours to his left, the ones attached to the house. An elderly couple, Billie and Lee. Billie was a fierce little old lady, the kind who carried a brick in her purse ‘just in case’. Her grey hair was dyed a shade of orange so bright and vivid you’d mistake it for flames. She had large spectacles, making her eyes huge in her face. She was also exceedingly humorous, in a blunt old generations kind of way. When Terry, Matt and the girls moved in, Billie had taken it upon herself to befriend them. “Might need a cup of sugar sometime” she’d said, ignoring the fact the corner shop was less than five minutes walk down the road. When she’d come to realise that her new neighbours were a family, she’d baked them a cake. Then as she passed it to Terry she’d smiled and said “Never met fudge-packers as nice as you two,”. Now under any other circumstance Terry would’ve felt offended, but she said it with such a sincere smile that he simply couldn’t. She was simply of a different generation. She’d not meant anything rude by it. Perhaps it was just her way of acknowledging the elephant in the room…?

  Her husband Lee, well he was as tall as a bean pole. He liked to chunter and mutter under his breath, he would often be found stood on the front doorstep moaning about the garden opposite them. He was a keen gardener so took great umbrage at anything he thought was ugly. Across the road had recently renovated with a taste for bamboo and pebbles. It hadn’t gone down well. Terry had found himself accidentally ensnared in a conversation where Lee critiqued the garden not so long ago. Terry had felt awful because he could barely understand a word Lee was saying, his voice was so low and so deep that when he muttered it was barely audible. So Terry was pretty guilty of nodding in the right places.

  Terry caught a glimpse of Lee in the window and saw him wave. Terry smiled and waved back. Lee was obviously chewing himself up about the garden again, stood at the front window like an installation in the neighbourhood watch scheme.

  Terry entered the house and shut the door behind him. He locked the door but hung the key on the hook. The girls were already upstairs, he could hear them stomping. The house was well laid out, moderately sized and without those peculiar quirks some older houses had. Before him was the stairs, which was open plan to the front room. It had been one of their renovations, opening the stairs up.

  Beyond that was the dining and kitchen area, off that was the utility room, a pantry and a small little room that had ultimately become the ‘office’. The PC in there had been Matt’s idea and had been used all of four times in its life. Terry dreaded booting it up, it would need a million and one updates…

  The back garden was expansive and accessible via two doors. One set of patio doors that the dining table sat in front of, and a back door that opened pretty much onto the garage’s side door. Upstairs, there was three bedrooms and a bathroom. The bedroom sizes scaled with age. Bridget’s was at the top of the stairs, then left led to the bathroom on one side and Terry’s on the other side. Christine’s was at the furthest end.

  Terry shrugged out of his shoes and deposited them on the shoe rack. He also deposited the girls’ pairs that had been discarded lazily.

  “Girls! Bring your dirty uniforms down!” he ca
lled up to them. There was no response but he guessed by the sudden silence he had been heard.

  The lounge was a breezy teal, with a grey-cream sofa and light pine furniture. His favourite piece was the hexagonal coffee table with the glass centre. The large 55” TV in the corner near the window was Matt’s favourite. As too was the collection of electrical devices underneath it. Cable TV, DVD player, Blu-ray player and an Xbox One. All very much Matt’s domain. Terry had a modest bookshelf that he kept a few books on. Matt however had begun encroaching onto it, his DVD collection had begun to spill onto it. Terry was in two minds whether to concede defeat or fight his ground.

  He padded into the crushed-grape kitchen and diner. The units were white with black counters, the dining table was a hand painted white wooden monstrosity that could house ten people. Well, eleven was Terry’s record.

  He padded to the kettle, turned it on and turned his attention to the bag of fish and chips he‘d brought in with him. He began rooting in the cupboards for plates. He’d have loved to have eaten from the paper but last time they did that Christine failed to hold it securely and dropped her dinner on the floor.

  Ruined chips, grease on the floor and full on crying was not a good combination for a pleasant meal.

  The kettle clicked off as he unwrapped the food.

  “Fudge is in the garden,” Bridget remarked as she appeared holding a ball of laundry.

  Terry turned and saw the cat sauntering across their lawn. Terry wasn’t a cat person, but he couldn’t deny that Fudge was one handsome cat. He was a thick haired, fluffy monstrosity. The colour of slate. He was a brute of a cat. He belonged, thankfully, to Billie and Lee. They swooned over him like he was a grandchild they’d never had. He was one spoilt moggy, probably why he weighed so much. The girls, being girls, had a natural attraction to the cat and he was rather partial to the attention.