1/12

Evangelos Georgiou

Description

A boy has just left his friend's house and is walking the short distance to his home. His birthday is in two days. He is turning 13, the start of teens. Halfway home, and as he is typing a message to another friend, he is bundled into a van and left unconscious. From that moment onwards, his life is in the hands of his captor. Would he survive or be killed? Would he be found by the police or would it be too late?

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 30 novembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781788235877
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

1/12
Evangelos Georgiou
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
1/12 About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Day 1 – 16 June 2013 Day 2 Day 5 Day 7 Day 36 – 24 July 2013 Before End of June 2013 Before – 18 June 2012 Wednesday, 3 July 2013 Friday, 5 July 2013 Early September 2013 Day 372 – 26 June 2014 Five Years Later 18 June 2018 25 June 2018 5 July 2018 6 July 2018 12 July 2018 Early August 2018 End of August 2018 February 2019
About the Author

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Evangelos Georgiou was born in 1946 in Alexandria, Egypt. At the end of 1959, his family moved to Greece, and in early 1967, they went to Cyprus, where they settled permanently.
This novel, 1/12 , is his third book. The first, O Apatris, is a semi-biographical novelette written in Greek and published in Greece. The second book, Friendship , published by Austin Macauley, is a children’s tale written for and dedicated to his beloved granddaughter.
Evangelos is not an author by vocation, he started writing just before he retired in 2011 to keep himself busy following a rather challenging career.
He is married with two children, a son and a daughter. He now lives in Windsor.
Dedication
To my children who have stood by me and encouraged me to this venture, and to my dear granddaughter who provided the love.
Copyright Information ©
Evangelos Georgiou (2020)
The right of Evangelos Georgiou to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction, and other than toponyms, names, characters, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781787102811 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788235877 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
Writing is a rather lonesome affair, but even so without the help and input of several people, it would become nearly impossible.
I owe my thanks and gratitude to Eve Seymour, known author, for her comments and guidance which proved invaluable. My thanks to Graham Bartlett, retired chief superintendent, crime and police procedural advisor and author, for pointing out my errors in police terminology and procedures. Any deviations from his advice are mine alone and are done to add drama.
My thanks extend to my publishers, Austin Macauley, for their support and guidance, especially to the production team for their advice and assistance throughout the process of publishing.
Allegory , a symbolic fictional narrative that conveys a meaning not explicitly set forth in the narrative. Allegory , which encompasses such forms as fable, parable, and apologue, may have meaning on two or more levels that the reader can understand only through an interpretive process.
Encyclopaedia Britannica
Day 1 – 16 June 2013
He was lying on a mattress, he could feel it with his hand. Not his mattress, and the wall to his left was rough, plain bricks, no plaster. Not his room. He felt woozy.
It was too dark, not even a dot of light.
“Dad! Mum!”
No response. This was not right, he was not on a bed, the mattress was on the floor, a rough concrete floor. He stretched his arms, trying to orient himself. He got up slowly; he was nauseous; his arms stretched ahead of him. Where was he? What was this?
“OK, I know what this is. You stupid idiots, this is not a joke, is this some sick birthday present? John? Mark?”
I was walking home from John’s place, texting Mark. I turned left towards our road, then…what happened? I don’t remember.
He froze where he stood. Not only could he not remember, but he could also not see a thing; it was totally dark, there was no eye adjustment. Then he realised that he was barefoot.
“Where are my shoes? Hey! Anybody, where are my rides? Where am I? Anybody? This is sick. Mum? Please, my birthday is in two days, please.”
OMG what if my birthday is passed now, maybe I was unconscious for days, did I have an accident? But this is not like a hospital, I must not panic, Dad says panic is not good. I must rest, I feel hungry.
“Daad!”
I must feel my way around, it’s so dark . “Hey! Can we have some light in here! Christ, where am I?”
***
Three hours ago, Ed was on his way home walking along Grove Road, his home was on the parallel road, number 5 Temple Road, a cul de sac just a few yards away. He had just left his friend’s John house at 7.45 p.m. because his mum wanted him to be home by eight; there was still a lot of light, the sun set after nine. He was sending a text to Mark, and he didn’t notice the white van parked near the curb. The side door was wide open and a guy in white overalls was standing by the door. Anyway, there were lots of vans parked around outside houses these days with all that renovation going on practically in every other house. The neighbourhood was a quiet upper middle class one, all the houses were well kept with neat front gardens and large back gardens. The weather was fine, mid-June, a great time to refurbish houses, which was happening practically every year in a predictable rotation doing justice to keeping up with the Joneses. The strong smell coming from the direction of the car did not bother him, probably paint thinner or whatever it is called. He even found it mildly pleasant.
He kept focused on his typing. His birthday party was in two days; 18 June 2013, and he was excited. First time ever he was involved in organising his party, a sign that he was a grown-up now. His mum kept a supervisory role only and ordered the party finger food from M&S. His dad provided the finance, organised some games like he always did and he was the self-appointed official photographer and reserved a “veto”, he said. He felt good, grown-up. Becoming 13 years old! Start of teens, crazy. Best of all, Hanna would be there, he would dance with her, get to be close. That was something worth looking forward to. John and Mark would be there too, of course, but he would find a way.
He never noticed the man stepping right behind him with a black hood in hand. He was shoved into the van, the man holding the smelly hood over his head, kicked the door shut and kept him there for a couple of minutes. Ed stopped breathing, not because of the hood, but because of his shock. He felt one arm wrapping around his body, trapping his hands, immobilising him while the other hand kept the hood down over his head. He could feel the strength of the man holding him, he could feel the size of him, how big and strong the man was. Ed wanted to fight back, he wanted to scream, but his mind and body were giving up on him out of fear, surprise and the overpowering smell of the hood. Holding his breath earned him some time, but the taking of a deep breath a few seconds later was all it took to knock him out. He felt the metal floor of the van with his hands, noting how clean it was, marvelling at the same time how his brain could register such a thing while losing consciousness. He didn’t even protest, he was so taken by surprise. These two minutes were so stretchable, some other time it would have been like seconds, milliseconds; now they stretched to hours, years.
Only John is that strong, but this is not John. What is happening to me? Dear God, he will kill me, a crazy killer.
He tried to scream, or he thought he tried, but he lost consciousness. His phone had dropped from his hands when he was grabbed, and it rolled under the van. The man got out, looked around, picked up the phone and slowly, quite relaxed, climbed into the driver’s side, started the engine and drove off. The whole thing lasted a few minutes, minutes of no sound, a scene from a silent film noir. There were no shops around, it was a strictly residential area, so no cameras anywhere within the captive area. Most of the residents were already in their houses preparing dinner, checking the homework of their young children, watching television, having a drink; suburbia at its best. Large luxury cars parked outside or on the driveways. The traffic in the cul de sac was zero.
***
A door on the opposite wall of where he was standing opened, shedding some light in the room; he blinked, trying to focus. A tall, muscular man was standing by the door holding one of those readymade supermarket sandwiches and a paper cup. He was big, brown hair cut short, a square jaw and dark blue eyes. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and an unmarked T-shirt. He bent down, left the sandwich and the cup on the floor. Ed realised that this was the man who attacked him, he had the right build.
“Sir, sir, where am I? Why, why am I here? I can’t see a thing here, sir, please.”
Ed was polite even if wrapped in terror, his upbringing spilling out of the dreadful situation.
The man turned around without saying a word or even looking at him, left the room and shut the door. The door made a metallic noise, a clang of metal on metal, then the sound of locking echoed in the room.
“No, no, no, nooo. Please, I must go home. Dad? Mum?”
Do I know this guy? I don’t think so; I’ve never seen him before. Why am I here? Where am I? He said nothing. God, he is a terrorist. He doesn’t even understand English. But why me? I am not important.
A fluorescent light switched on up on the ceiling.