Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

The Broadcast

I need help. I think my daughter is in danger and I don’t know how to help her. I am currently trapped in traffic on the A2, and I can hear them, all of them, but especially him, that snake that we trusted, I can hear them hurting her. I don’t know what to do.

I’ve tried calling my ex wife but she never answers my calls, and nobody else in the wedding party is picking up. They don’t realise that we don’t have much time to save my little girl’s life. Nobody is listening to me! Will you listen? Please? I’m begging you. She is going to die if nobody acts, and I’m stuck here, having to listen to those bastards torture her. Please someone help me,.

I’m going to tell you everything that I know, and if any of it sounds familiar, or you have any idea who is behind it, please message me or tell me how I can get to her.

It’s on the radio. I was driving to my daughter’s engagement party. It’s in London, and I meant to leave at Three so I could get there just before Five, but I left late, and there’s so much traffic and… that doesn’t really matter, I suppose. It’s just another time I couldn’t be there on time for her… I… Anyway. It was about half four when I heard it. I’d just left Dover, and I was stressing, so I thought I’d put on the radio, and see if it could relax me.

Almost everything was static, and as I hit the first wall of traffic, I continued flicking through to find something I could listen to. I was about to give up when I heard a man’s voice.

“It really is an art form.” He said. His voice was smarmy and posh, like something off of Radio 4, but it seemed to be my only option, so I stuck with it. Staring ahead with a sigh at the traffic as he went on. “There is true beauty in the demise of one so delicate.” He droned on, but I was zoning in and out while imagining how disappointed my daughter Sophie would be at her estranged, idiot father spoiling her day, again. I’d always disappointed her. The drinking. Playing away on her Mum. I don’t even know why I did it. It was stupid, immature shit, but I was older now, looking my life in the eye and trying to be better. This was my chance to show her that I would be the Dad she needed, and now, I don’t think I’ll ever have it.

I’m sorry, I need to focus on what happened. I just can’t stop thinking about her. She probably thinks I don’t care, but that’s all I can do right now. She’s such a great kid… not a kid anymore though. I’m sorry. I keep going off track.

He said “She is almost done with her transformation.” And at that moment, I could hear something in the background. It was like someone was trying to scream, but couldn’t quite get it out. I looked down at the radio then, confused and a little concerned about what I’d tuned into. Maybe one of those artsy dramas they do? Maybe some kind of play?

I wish.

“One more dose of the gas should do it.” He continued, and this time, the scream broke through. I could hear a girl. She screamed like her life depended on it. I could hear her struggling, and a commotion as the man tutted with a deep sigh. “Why do they always do this?” The girl kept screaming, and seemed to be putting up a fight. Whatever it was, I was creeped out, and I reached towards the radio to turn it off. As my finger reached the button, I froze.

“Dad, help me!” My blood ran cold and my body was full of chills. It was Sophie. My daughter. That was her voice. Do you get what I mean now? This is why I need your help. They’ve got my daughter, and somehow, I can’t even begin to understand how, they know that I’m listening.

I kept it on, and I listened to try and find any signs of where they were or who was behind it, but I’ve got nothing. I know how crazy I sound. I know that you’ll be listening to this and thinking I’m a stupid old drunk, and most days I am, but today, I swear to you, I’m stone cold sober, and I know that my daughter is in danger.

She called out for me again and again, but she was… somewhere, somewhere that I don’t know if I’ll ever find, and I was trapped in traffic, where I still am.

I began calling all the numbers I had for anyone who might have seen her that day. Her Mum. Her Aunts and Uncles. Her Brother. None of them responded, and the radio rang with the laughter of the man, with more joining him as Sophie’s voice faded.

“She’s enjoying the gas now.” He whispered, the hiss of the gas joining his voice on the broadcast. “Silly little Sophie was so desperate for a man to love her, she just fell into her trap.” I slammed my hands on the steering wheel, frustrated that I couldn’t reach her, and running out of options as I glared at the last few contacts on my phone. “Your daughter was so easy, Frank.” That’s what he said about my little girl, and I just lost it. Yelling back, like a mad man as their laughter seemed to surround me.

It did no good. She was still trapped, and I was still sat in traffic, shouting at the empty air around me. I bawled and hollered with no sign of stopping, my frustration and shame pouring out into the empty car, until my phone began ringing in front of me.

It was Lawrence, her fiance. I felt hopeful, at last. I’d never met him, but he made Sophie happy, and everyone in the family adored him. He was a copper, who used to work up North, but had come down South later in his career, moving from the Kent force up to The Met. I should have questioned why he moved around so much. I should have questioned why he was so damn charming to everyone. I should have questioned why he’d proposed so quickly.

I answered instantly, and he just laughed. His laughter cascaded from the phone, and from the radio. My body was white hot with rage for a moment and then chilled to the bone.

I had trusted him with my daughter. I’d never even met him and I’d trusted him with her.

We really knew nothing about him. They’ve only been together for six months. He looks so much older than her in pictures but she was always smiling. She looked happy. I didn’t want to spoil it because she looked so happy.

I’ve never been able to protect her.

Not from me, not from him.

He’s still laughing. He won’t stop laughing, and I can hear all of them too, all of those men, laughing, but I can’t hear her anymore. I can’t hear my little girl.

I think he’s going to kill her. I don’t know what the gas does but she goes quiet when they give it to her. They keep bringing her in and out of consciousness and laughing, all the time, always laughing. I don’t know why they’re doing this to her.

Her name is Sophie Jacobs. She’s from Dover, but she lives in London. She’s twenty four and has brown eyes and brown hair. Please, please help me find her.

His name is Lawrence. He’s quite tall. He’s got dark hair, and his eyes always just looked kind of… black. I guess maybe it’s the camera quality? I don’t know. I’m not sure how old he is, but… there are photos of him on her facebook, you can…

Oh God, he’s taken them down. It has to be him. He’s just taken the photos down. Their profiles aren’t linked anymore. The event page for the party is gone too. It’s like he’s erasing every shred of proof that he knows her. I’m going to look like a crazy, drunk old man, but I’m not. You have to understand, I’m not losing it.

Please will you help me find my little girl? It might not be too late.

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