A Very, Very Short Story

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The drumming brought Jessica out of her reverie. The last twelve hours were not a dream sequence–this was no Hollywood rom-com. How did she go from chilling champagne and staging rose petals on the bed at dusk to driving semi-conscious cargo to an abandoned lot at dawn?

She should never have planned to surprise Marco for their anniversary. She should have trusted her instincts. She should have brought a shovel.

Thump, thump. The bass was getting out of hand. She scanned the radio for soothing classical music and chided herself for missing so many red flags. Marco had become increasingly distant, he was illusive and he had barely tried to craft a plausible explanation for his secretary’s shade of lipstick smeared across his pillowcase.

She should have learned from her mistakes.

It wasn’t that long ago that Eric insisted the rose gold earring she’d found tangled in the bathroom rug was her own. That relationship had ended abruptly, too.

Another man had let her down.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Another man lay bound in the trunk.

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