literature

Sara's Open Day

Deviation Actions

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“There it is!” exclaimed Grandma Marie in excitement, pointing beyond the train window. I looked in that direction and my gaze fell upon the impressive structure of York Minster. Its massive, square shaped central tower, constructed out of bright limestone, stood like a beacon against the dull grey skies. It was taller than any other building in the city of York by some margin. My Grandma explained why. “It’s been a tradition for decades that no building be taller than the Minster, so as not to spoil that marvellous view.”

    “So it’s been that way even before you visited here?” I grinned.

   She smirked back. “Cheeky mare. But it definitely has been too long. At least having you living nearby will give me the perfect excuse to come more often.”

   Staring blankly at the approaching station I remarked, “Depends if I get the grades.”

    “Course you will Tiger, they’d be mad to reject someone as bright as you!”  

   My Mum looked up from the university prospectus, unable to resist interjecting, “Well your personal statement is bound to have stood out. My name’s Sara Philips. I’m a keen reporter at the student paper, have a work experience placement every Saturday, oh, and I’m responsible for the arrests of more criminals than I can count.”

   “I didn’t exactly put it like that,” I replied with a frown. “I don’t want them thinking I’m some sort of troublemaker.”

   “I doubt it’ll take them long to figure that out,” Grandma Marie smirked at me.

   The train came to a stop, and three generations of danger prone girl detectives disembarked. And yes, I know exactly where you think this is going to go.

    York Station is a fantastically impressive building, with its arched roof and old fashioned bridge linking the many platforms. Yet it always seems to be cold, regardless of the season. So I quickly put on my black leather jacket over my long sleeved tunic dress with white and navy blue stripes. The hem reached well above my knees, so my attire was completed by dark tights and black, suede ankle boots with a wedge high heel. I’d ditched the hoodies for today, wanting to make a good impression on any prospective fellow students. I’d also taken the time to neatly straighten my shoulder length brown hair and ensure my makeup was immaculate.

    Grandma Marie couldn’t help but comment on my attire. “Look at you Sara, with your legs on display for the world to see. I’d have never got away with that when I was your age…I’d have loved to try mind.”

    “You could still pull of this look you know,” I told her. I wasn’t joking. My Grandmother remained a fantastically beautiful woman. Even now in her late sixties she remained fit and healthy. Her hair, though now grey, remained thick, straight and the same length as mine, and her wrinkle accentuated her smile. It helped that she liked to dress smart. Today her blue blouse and red cardigan was covered by her dark overcoat, though not her grey trousers and leather ankle boots with a two inch heel.

   And naturally my Mum looked truly glamorous as well. Her own shoulder length brown hair was caught in the breeze as she affixed the beige overcoat covering her white blouse and long sleeved, lime green top. A wavy brown skirt with matching tights and sandy coloured suede boots with a block heel completed the ensemble.

   Men of all ages stared at three generations of my family walked by. I’m not sure it was just me these men were ogling.

  None of us anticipated that today we’d be engaging in anything more exciting than a tour of the campus, followed by a bite to eat at Betty’s Tea Rooms. But as we walked outside, directed by volunteers towards the specially organised buses, we received the first indication of what we would really encounter, when I was barged aside by a posh brunette girl, almost knocking me in to a flower stall.

   “Oi, watch where you’re walking!” I snapped.

   But this girl, dressed in a red top, tartan miniskirt with dark tights and bright red flats, merely wrinkled her nose at me and grunted, “Not like I’m holding you up is it?” before stomping off.

   “Olivia, wait please Olivia!” cried an exasperated man dressed in a tweed jacket and matching trilby, trundling her bright pink suitcases along the ground as he pursued her.

     “Her dad needs to give her a proper talking too,” Mum remarked as they melted into the crowd.

     “I don’t think that poor chap is her father,” observed Grandma Marie.

     “Let’s just hope she isn’t looking to study history here!” I joked as we boarded the waiting coach.



    The White Rose University was a campus based university located in the countryside a few miles from York city centre, far enough to be isolated but not so far that a taxi back from a nightclub was too expensive. Shops, bars and clubs were peppered among the lecture theatres, sports fields and residence halls. It took no longer than twenty minutes to cross one side of the campus to the other. Large oak trees flanked the tarmac pathways and red brick buildings, with a large pond by the massive library.

   This was my first choice university and I was under offer. Meaning if I got the required grades I would definitely be coming here to study history with additional modules in psychology. As I followed the campus tour, amid a crowd of young people and their parents, I reflected on how I would possibly be spending the next three years of my life here. I also could reflect on my rotten luck, as just ahead was the girl who had barged me at the train station.

   “This is our new Library, the Snetterton building,” announced our guide Kimberly, a petite third year student with dark hair complete with strands of dyed blue. “It was opened three years ago and has over a million books.”

    “And named after your chief benefactor!” spoke up the arrogant Olivia so people could hear. “Papa was so thrilled when it was named after him.”

   Kimberley gave an awkward smile at Olivia’s interjection. “Er yeah, right…anyway if you all want to come this way…”

    Grandma Marie clutched my arm gently. “Now I know who she reminds me of. Lord Snetterton MP, cabinet member for social welfare and housing.”

    I’d heard that surname before. “I think Rachel had a colossal rant about him during one of her college debates.”

    “I’m not surprised,” Mum said under her breath. “I can’t imagine Rachel liking a man who has green lit sweeping cuts to housing and welfare benefits, while being one of the country’s wealthiest landowners.”
   
   The good Lord Snetterton hadn’t seen it fit to accompany Olivia on this open day. That job had fallen to his lackey, the nervy looking man who was still trundling her suitcase wherever they went. I felt sorry for the poor bloke; it looked like Olivia was driving him close to despair.

    We entered the newly built Library, and as Kimberly guided us past the reception desk we heard someone say, “Sorry, hope I’ve got this right. Aren’t you Caroline Merton?”

   Mum turned at the same time I did, to see a petite girl my age right behind us, clutching an e-reader with one hand and a prospectus in the other. Petite was the word for her; she couldn’t have been much taller than five foot three. She had long auburn hair spilling from under her beige beanie and wore thick red glasses over her hazel eyes. She wore a purple top under an open cream cardigan, peach denim trousers and black lace-up boots. Mum smiled at her and confirmed for her, “Yes that’s me!”

    A broad grin exploded over her face. “Thought so,” she said in a broad Scottish Highlands accent. “I’m loving your latest book. About halfway through,” (she waggled her e-reader at this point). “I’m still reeling over what happened to Sinead Connell last time.”

  “Glad I’m still managing to surprise you!” Mum replied. Then bringing me and Grandma closer, she added, “This is my mother Marie and my daughter Sara!”

    “Oh the famous Sara Philips. I’ve read some of your stuff too…well, what Rachel’s written. She’s very good you know; I’d definitely buy a book from you two!”

   “Don’t tell her that, you’ll give her ideas!” I laughed. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

    “God sorry. Name’s Alice McCormick,” she announced. “Been thinking off coming down to England to study somewhere more metropolitan than rural Scotland. I had no idea you’re comin’ here to study.”

    “Only if I get the grades,” I said. “Are you coming with us to the student accommodation?”

    “I have to attend a meeting in the English Department. But was just grand meeting you all. Keep up the good work!” Then, before I could say another word or Mum could offer to sign her prospectus, Alice darted away with a surprising amount of speed for one so small.

   “Well, she seems quite bubbly!” Grandma Marie observed. I nodded in agreement. It was nice to know not everyone here would be like Olivia.

   And so Kimberley continued our tour, leading us around the Smithson lecture theatre before moving on to the accommodation halls for a glimpse of where I’d be living in my first year. This was a number of multi-storey red brick buildings gathered around a pentagonal shaped lawn filled with bustling students. Kimberley hustled my group into Tawny House to show us the student flats the university had to offer.

    “These are our self-catered flats!” she explained after turning the key to Flat 39. “A living space for five students with a kitchen, bathroom and five individual bedrooms.” I listened to her description of the features while taking them in for myself, noting the spacious living room in which two sofas were positioned opposite each other, the desk underneath the window and shelf space capable of storing enough booze to sink a ship.

    Olivia didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic. After examining the tiny shower room she couldn’t restrain her scoff. “As if I’m sharing such a tiny bathroom with four strangers.”

   “Consider yourself lucky,” Grandma Marie exclaimed, unable to stand her whining for another moment. “My grandparents only had an outside toilet. Compared to that, this is the Ritz.” Her words drew murmurs of appreciation from the crowd. Olivia looked mortified; but bit her lip, and her tongue, as she moved away from the shower room and into an empty bedroom. The door shut after her, and I didn’t see her come back out.

   “This way everyone,” announced Kimberly, “I still need to show you the really important room, namely, the bar!” That got everyone’s attention, particularly the prospective students. So we followed our tour guide back into the corridor. We took in the lounge area and the grassy playing field at the back until our arrival at the bar. It wasn’t much past midday yet it was already filled with students having a cheeky pint over a game of pool. “Any questions?” Kimberly asked with a broad grin.

   A boy in the front row raised his hand. “What does the university have to offer in the way of scholarships?”

   “Well there are a few on offer, as I can testify because I was fortunate to get one myself,” Kimberly replied happily. “You’ll have to check online! OK, yes madam…”

    I was beginning like the look of this university. Mr Bunton had told me when I found the right university it would just feel right to walk around. I loved the relaxed atmosphere and modern feel here. It looked like just the place where I could spend three years of my life studying, socializing and partying, with minimal girl detective japery.

   Yeah, that happy notion didn’t last very long.

   In fact, it lasted right up to when Olivia’s frantic assistant burst in, looking even more flustered. His voice was practically squeaking as he yelled, “Can someone call the police?”

  Kimberly looked confused, and cleared her throat before asking, “Excuse me, is something the…?”

   “I’m telling you I need the police, or university security, or something!” The poor bloke was flushing so red you could have fried an egg on it.

    Mum took the initiative, striding over and telling him, “My husband is a detective inspector. What’s happened?”

   In between panicked breaths the assistant replied, “I-I got sent this. She’s in real danger. I took my eyes off her for one minute and then…” He trailed off as he showed mum a picture on his phone.

   It showed the top half Olivia Snetterton, her torso surrounded by tightly fixed ropes and a thick white cleave gag in her mouth. Her eyes were wide and desperate as she stared at us through the screen. Accompanying the picture was a text. “WE HAVE OLIVIA. SEND THIS MESSAGE TO HER FATHER AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS!”  



   “I feel awful,” Grandma Marie remarked sombrely after campus security had taken our statements. “I should never have lost my temper with that girl. OK she was a brat, but nobody deserves that.”

   “Why would someone kidnap her?” I wondered as me, mum and Grandma Marie sat around a bar table discussing recent events. “I mean, apart from the usual, ‘she’s stinking rich’ motive?”

    “She could have been targeted anywhere if that was why,” Mum mused, having donned the mind-set of a bestselling crime writer. “But why a packed open day attended by heaps of people?”

     “Actually the manic atmosphere was probably the perfect environment,” Grandma Marie suggested. “We’re sharp ladies, and neither of us noticed she was missing from the group. With so much going on it’s easy for an individual to stray.”

     “Do you reckon he’s in on it?” I asked, motioning with my head to where the flustered assistant was being interviewed. “Olivia did treat him appallingly, so he’d have the motive. What’s to say he didn’t take the picture himself and used it to convince us he’s innocent?”

    Mum shook her head. “He seems like nothing more than a sycophant, the sort of person Lord Snetterton would love having around. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise his relationship with his Lordship.”

    Grandma Marie ran her hand through her grey hair, and exhaled in frustration. “If only we could think where it was that poor girl was taken. It would at least give us a starting point.”

    I was thinking pretty hard myself, casting my mind back to all the times I’d seen Olivia today. I could only think of her barging me out the way at the station, her smug exclamation at the library, her look of displeasure in the student flat…

   Hang on. That was it! I knew where I had last seen her. Bounding to my feet I told my family, “I know where to start looking. Follow me!”

   I lead the way out of the bar and into the courtyard. The grassy lawn was devoid of students. In fact the whole campus now seemed eerily quiet. The sound of my heels reverberated off every wall as we half walked/half trotted back to Tawny House. We entered the building unchallenged, and with no locks or combinations obstructing our path it didn’t take us long to return to Flat 39.

   “I’m sure this is where I last saw her!” I exclaimed, rattling the locked handle.

    “We won’t be getting much further without a key!” Mum pointed out as I barged against it with my shoulder.

   But Grandma Marie was more resourceful. After a knowing tut she said, “Let’s try the oldest trick in the book. Any of you have a hairclip?” Mum provided her with one, and she put it to use as a makeshift lock pick. I know right, real Nancy Drew stuff. But of course my Grandma is no stranger to using a few girl detective tricks, so she got to work while Mum and I kept watch. After some experimental jiggles within the lock she felt it give way, and with a satisfying click the door to Flat 39 swung open.

   In I ran, almost flinging the door off its hinges. I’d hoped to find some indication as to what had happened to Olivia. But I got one better. I came face to face with Olivia for real.

   She was perched anxiously on the sofa, wriggling her bright red flats as she strained against the ropes binding her ankles together. She alternated her shoulders up and down trying to release her torso from the cords, while jiggling against the ropes keeping her hands behind her back. She stared wide eyed as I entered, screaming through her thick cleave gag, “NNNNMMM GGGTTTT WWWYYYY. GGGGTTT HHHLLLLPPP!”

   There was reason for her panic. Seated beside her was a young man, average height with long dark hair. Physically he reminded me very much of someone else I’d seen today. But unlike everyone else he was not here to show me around. He made this quite clear when he pointed a silenced pistol at Mum, Marie and myself. “Wondered if someone would find us,” he smirked ominously.

    I didn’t dare turn and run. But I couldn’t stop myself whirling around instinctively and checking the exit. It was already blocked by two people. One was a vast tree trunk of a man with a shaven head. But we couldn’t fail but recognise the woman at his side.

   “Why couldn’t you three have stayed on the tour?” Kimberly sighed as she and her accomplices closed their net around us.                
   


   “Do you do this to, ow, everyone attending this open day?” I grunted as the young intruder wound yet more rope around my ankles, yanking my wedge heels so they were pointing at the ceiling.

   “Not usually, but I’ll make an exception for you sweetheart!” the man said gleefully, affixing the rope to those already binding my hands behind my back, fixing me into a hogtie.

    I could only tut indignantly, and squirm against additional ropes wound about my upper body and above my knees. While testing my wrist bonds I unintentionally yanked on my legs, a result of the hogtie I was now in, and glowered up at the man responsible. “Yeah that’s right. Come to the White Rose University. See the facilities, the courses, oh, and a complimentary hogtie for all girl detectives!”

   “Get you, knowing the lingo!” my captor chortled as he fixed the last knot.

   “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt!” I grunted in reply.

    The man stood up, watching as I squirmed about on the sofa of Flat 39. “Well I thought a hogtie would suit you. Besides, a young lass like yourself should be able to handle one.”

   Beyond us Grandma Marie scoffed at his words, testing the ropes keeping her seated in the chair, with her arms bound to the armrests, ropes around her waist, lap and knees and her feet tied together and fixed to the crosspiece. “You think I couldn’t take a hogtie? Seems fairly ageist of you.”

    Our captor laughed. “I would offer to rectify that, but I don’t think you’re going anywhere grandma,” he sneered as she jiggled about, making the chair tilt to the right.

   Mum wasn’t faring much better. Kimberly was busy fixing her to the leg of the big desk positioned underneath the window, winding ropes about her chest to fix her against the furniture. Her hands had already been bound behind her back. Her legs and ankles were also tied together, tucked up in such a way that she was almost kneeling with her legs resting to the left. The same ropes affixed around her suede, brown boots were also tied to another desk leg, the diagonally opposite one, keeping her in this rigid sitting position. Her beige raincoat had been removed (as had my grandma’s overcoat), so she only had her blouse, top and skirt to protect her from the biting cords. And she was not best pleased with Kimberly for this fact.

   “Why are you doing this?” Mum snapped as the knots were tightened.

   Kimberly frowned at her, before motioning with her head to the terrified looking girl perched on the sofa opposite mine. “Couldn’t believe it when I found out she’d be on my tour. We realised we’d never get a better chance to nab her.”

   “Wwwhhhttt hhhvvv nnnn ddddnnn?” Olivia asked through her cleave gag, her exclamation as much a plea as a question.

   “Oh you’ve done nothing really,” Kimberly retorted. “Other than being one of the snottiest cows I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. Me and my brother’s real problem lies with your father.”

   I looked first at her, then again at the boy who had tied me up. At last I saw the family resemblance. “Brother and sister working together right?” I grunted.

  Kimberly’s brother nodded. “You see, it’s a miracle really that Kimberly managed to get to university at all, given how charming Lord Snetterton did everything in his power to ruin our life.”

   “We grew up poor with an absent dad and a manically depressed mum,” Kimberly explained. “Jermain and I were forced to look after our mum every free hour we had, while she couldn’t work due to her crippling depression. We were utterly reliant on government benefits, and through no fault of our own.”

   “But of course Lord Snetterton thinks anyone who doesn’t work is a lazy pleb leeching off the State,” said the man we now knew was called Jermain. “One by one he took our mums benefits away from her, and each time her depression worsened and worsened. Eventually, when our landlord came around to say we were being evicted in a month, it proved too much for her, and she overdosed on her prescription drugs.”

   “But Jermain and I got through it together. He got a job, and I got the scholarship to come here. We were determined to not let what happened hold us back,” Kimberly concluded.

    Grandma Marie pursed her cheek. “And you’d throw all that away by doing something as stupid as this.”

   “Like you’d understand,” Kimberly snapped.
 
   “I do understand,” I insisted, lifting my head off of the cushions. “One of my best friends experienced something really similar. But she would never enact crazy feelings of revenge on an innocent girl.”

   “Save it,” Kimberly scoffed. “You saw how she acted earlier. She’s just like her daddy, thinking that she’s better than everyone else. We just want her papa to suffer some of our pain!”

   The door swung open, and for the briefest of moments my heart fluttered wondering if it was rescue. No such luck, it was their hulking accomplice, a man with more muscles than brain power. “I got it sorted. Nobody saw me,” he grunted with a cockney accent. “Shall I take the girl now?”

   “Go for it!” Jermain replied, as from his bag he withdrew three long strips of cloth and some sponges. “We’ve just got to make sure these ladies can’t raise the alarm.”

   I didn’t like the sound of that, and responded by writhing on the spot as Jermain and Kimberly began unravelling the cloths. Muscled man grabbed the bound Olivia and hoisted her over his shoulder like she was a bag of feathers. She whimpered as he hauled her outside, wriggling about with flashes of tartan and red from her attire. I was so preoccupied watching their exit that I forgot all about Jermain, well, until he stuffed a sponge into my mouth.

   “Hhhhhyyyy wwwhhhttt ttthhh hhhlll?” I growled as he swiftly pulled the length of cloth between my lips, effectively cleave gagging me as he tied off the stray ends behind my head and hair. Meanwhile Kimberly was doing the same to my mum, the yellow sponge contrasting with her lipstick as it peeped out her mouth, until it was concealed by the white rag fixed between her teeth.

   As Jermain bore down on Grandma Marie with cloth and sponge in hand she scolded, “I fail to see exactly what you hope to achieve. Or how you think you’re going to get away with it!”

   “You let us worry about that grandma!” Jermain scoffed as he stuffed her mouth with the sponge. “You worry about how long it’ll be until someone finds you three!”

    “Llllll ggggttt ttttt fffff ttthhhssss!” Grandma Marie growled as her cleave gag was completed, tied off underneath her grey hair.

   Kimberly had gathered all their gear, and was waiting for Jermain by the door as he double checked our knots. When happy we were snugly bound he joined her at the door, at which she exclaimed, “Enjoy the rest of your open day.” Then they slammed the door and locked it behind them.

  The three of us wasted no time in wriggling for freedom. Grandma Marie rocked her chair to and fro, teetering from one leg to the next. Her fingers flailed about on the wooden armrests while twisting her ankles up and down, the cuffs of her grey trousers flaying over her ankle boots due to the tightly cinched cords. But she could do nothing to break free from her chair. Mum was also struggling hard, bucking against her bonds with such vigour that the desk juddered and shook with her. But to no avail; she remained rooted against the leg. The suede of her boots seemed to scratch as she too jiggled her bound feet, trying to make herself more comfortable in her sitting position. She made some very vocal grunts through her gag, staring up at the ceiling light as her shoulders alternated up and down.

   And believe me, I was hardly letting the side down in the wriggling stakes. I tugged on my ropes with such vigour so that I was bouncing on the spot, rocking on my chest and knees, hiking up the hem of my tunic dress. The ropes scratched against my leather jacket as I tried moving my upper arms, as did my suede ankle boots as my feet alternated up and down. I soon began to regret not wearing a trendy pair of jeans as my tights offered no protection from the ropes ensnaring my legs. Resting on the cushions with my left cheek, I began rubbing my face against the furniture in an attempt to dislodge my gag, but it was fixed tightly.

    Strands of my brown hair covered my eyes as my head slumped into the sofa. I’m not exactly fond of being tied up in any position, but I have a particular aversion to hogties. Your limbs get zero relief, every tug and wriggle adds to the pressure on your conjoined arms and legs. And your manoeuvrability is severely hampered. Even when chairtied, you can usually scrape your way to freedom somehow. In a hogtie you just flop about like a beached fish. I hate it!

    I could only exhale loudly through my nose and search for a loose end with my fingers, even as numbness began consuming them. Some grand day out this had turned out to be. Though given my family history, I suppose there is an air of inevitability about it.

   But Grandma Marie wasn’t going to let our day be spoiled without a fight, and with a great display of resilience she began bouncing her seat forward. Even with her feet fixed to the crosspiece she managed to drag her chair closer and closer to the sofa on which I rested. “Wwwwttt rrrrr yyyynnnnn dddnnnnggg?” I asked through my gag.

    “Mmmm cccmmmmnnn vvvrrrr. Lllll wwwwwttthhh yyyrrrr bbbccckkk ttttmmm mmm!” she replied, twirling her index fingers at me in a circle.

    Mum understood what she meant first. “Ssssrrrr, tttrrrnn vvvrrrr ffrrr hhrrr!” she said, rotating her head in a circle at me.

  Finally, as Grandma Marie drew near with another fierce plant of her heels into the cheap carpet, I got the message. The sofa was about the same height as her chair armrests, so there was a chance she could free me if we got into the correct position. Grunting in discomfort, I flopped onto my side so my feet were protruding over the sofa edge, then I wriggled my hips and stomach until the rest of my body, hands included, were perching on the edge. I then waited, until finally I felt the fingers on my Grandma’s right hand grasping the ropes binding my wrists together.

   She worked in silence, her fingers as dexterous as they were aged eighteen, used to prying stubborn knots loose. It still took her ages to undo Jermain’s work, during which I tried to avoid any involuntary twitches from my immobile limbs. But eventually, after about ten minutes of persistent prying, Grandma Marie won through. The cinched knot binding my wrists gave way, and to my great relief I pulled my hands free.



    Alice McCormick sighed as she turned the map of the campus at a ninety degree angle for a better look. She had ended up on a backstreet behind the student accommodation while searching for a shortcut from the English department, but she’d ended up just getting lost.

   Ahead of her a fire exit opened, and out walked three people trundling a large laundry casket. Alice watched as they pulled it towards an open van parked at the side of the road, until she recognised the girl with dyed blue streaks in her dark hair. “Hello, excuse me, it’s Kimberly right?” she hollered, making them whirl around in alarm. When Kimberly saw Alice she stepped forward while the other two men continued to haul the laundry basket to the van. “I was just wondering how to get to the student union?” Alice asked.

    “Oh, just up the road, turn left, past the pond!” Kimberly replied quickly.

    “Thanks. Oh, do you need any help with that?”

    “No we’re absolutely fine!” Kimberly squeaked as Alice bumped past her and grabbed the edge of the laundry basket.

   “Come on, it looks really heavy!” Alice answered obliviously.

     “We’re honestly fine,” Jermain grunted as he and Muscles tried lifting up the laundry basket but couldn’t with Alice in the way.

    “Seriously, it’s the least I can…” Alice began before trailing off. She’d seen a lock of long brunette hair peeking through the white towels. She pulled a few aside and gave a gasp when she saw Olivia with a gag in her mouth. She was fast asleep, a result of a quick dosage of chloroform. Alice gulped, then looked sheepishly at a frustrated Kimberly and Jermain. “I wasn’t supposed to see that right?” she asked.

    “No, you weren’t,” Kimberly replied, at the same moment muscled goon clamped his hand over Alice’s mouth.

    Alice squeaked behind her assailants thick fingers, lashing out with her arms and feet. But the petite Scot was no match for the six foot three friend of Jermain, and into the van she was hauled. She was pushed face down, and before she could call out into her mouth went a spare piece of sponge from Kimberly’s pocket, which was swiftly secured in place by another length of cloth produced by the devious student, who wrapped it around Alice’s head. They only had two lengths of rope left, but it was enough for Jermain to cross her wrists behind her back and bind them, then proceed to lash her feet together.

  A furiously squeaking Alice was then hauled to the wall, as Kimberly and muscles dragged in the still unconscious Olivia inside and sat her beside Alice. Pointing at the new captive Jermain growled, “Sit still, shut up, and we’ll drop you somewhere safe once we’re clear of the campus!”

   “Lllltttt mmmmggg gggmmmm!” Alice snarled in reply, stamping her feet angrily on the metal floor as the van doors were slammed shut. Alice gave a squeak as the van set off seconds later, causing her to slide to the right. The van didn’t travel particularly fast but there were some violent speed bumps which bumped her up into the air with a painful judder.

  Alice ignored the jarring pain in her backside and focused instead on her bonds. She wasn’t bound particularly stringently so she’d probably have been able to wriggle loose in time. The problem lay in doing so while the van was moving, and also in doing so in time. If they got too far from the campus, she’d have no choice but to be taken wherever these creeps wanted. So she struggled hard to get loose in what time she had remaining.

   Ultimately however it didn’t matter, as just before the van exited the main gate Jermain was stopped by a duo of security guards running in front of the vehicle. “Hold it right there! There’s a girl missing!” one of them yelled.

   “We’ve already been checked!” Kimberly told them.

    “Yeah but apparently the culprits were a gang of youths, and one was a student,” the other explained.

    Jermain tried to hide his shock when he asked, “Who said that?”

   “That’d be me,” I said, appearing at the wound down window for them to see with a smug grin on my face.

   The looks on the faces of Jermain, Kimberly and muscles were priceless as they saw me moving freely. They said nothing as I instructed, “That’s them! I’ll check the van!” Then before either guard could stop me I ran behind and wrenched open the door. I was very surprised to see Alice tied up next to Olivia, who was beginning to stir from her chloroform induced slumber. Alice groaned at me and outstretched her hands towards me in anticipation of release.

   Although I first smiled at the petite girl and replied, “Yeah, more fun reading about it in my mums novels than when it happens in real life right?”



   “Lord Snetterton has spoken of his relief following the attempted kidnapping of his daughter. The attempt took place during an open day at the White Rose University…”

   “You’ve got to be joking,” Philip Merton exclaimed into the empty car. He listened to the rest of the radio report, hearing of the daring intervention of university security, and how the three suspects were now in custody. He didn’t have the chance to listen further as at that point Mum, Grandma and I walked out of Carrington rail station. He flashed his lights at us, indicating where his smart blue sedan was parked.

    “Hey Granddad!” I said warmly as I got into the backseat, Mum beside me and Grandma Marie in front.

    “Hey there trouble, been out making mischief?” he asked, turning to face me over his shoulder with his eyebrow raised. Now in his late sixties Granddad Philip remained a tall man with his body in very good condition, his grey hair receding but far from being fully bald.

  As he peered at me through his glasses I gave a shrug. “Depends on what you mean by making mischief?”

   He fell silent as he pulled the car out of the parking space and set off along Station Road. He then said, “Well, I just wondered if you got involved in anything exciting during your trip to York. The attempted kidnap of an MP’s daughter, for example.”

     His statement surprised us, particularly Mum, who said, “Oh I can’t believe this. Dad’s become a mind reader.”

   “It was on the radio,” Granddad Philip explained. “I knew I should have gone with you!”

    “Yeah you’d have showed those young, fit kidnappers what for wouldn’t you?” teased Grandma Marie.

    “Too right. Nobody messes with one of my favourite girl detective trios.”

    “Your favourite girl detective trio, you mean?”

    “Well, an argument could be made for top five.”

    Grandma Marie gave him a playful whack on the shoulder for that comment, before she gently caressed his hand on the gear stick as we waited at the traffic lights. Granddad Philip then looked at me in the mirror to ask, “Apart from another tangle with the criminal underworld how was the trip? Fruitful, I hope?”

   “Very,” I replied as I checked my phone to see the text message I’d received from the latest entry to my contacts, a number I’d listed simply as ‘Alice.’
Me first Sara tale in a while, though one which is going to be the first of many in the coming months. Had a surge of inspiration for her recently, so big plans are very much in the pipeline for her. And to kick things off, here is an adventure she has when visiting a university on an open day, in the company of her similarly danger prone mum and grandma.

This is a big tale for her in some ways. For starters, this is the first time Sara and her Grandma Marie have shared an adventure at the same time. I know some of you have been wanting this, so who am I to say no? Felt it was a good chance for them to combine their knowledge and experiences to save the day. Also it's big because I'm exploring in my head what will happen with Sara once she leaves Carrington at the end of her A-levels, and what future adventures she might encounter when that happens.

One thing I struggled upon deciding is whether to have her attend a real life university and its town, or have it set in a fictional location like Carrington. In the end I settled upon a compromise. The White Rose university is a completely fictional location that I alone created for the purpose of this story. However it is located just outside the real life city of York, a town I remember well from my studies in nearby Leeds. Gives me enough flexibility to devise a completely new world for Sara to inhabit, but with a fantastic real life backdrop linking her to reality. Hope you feel this works.

Until Sara's next adventure folks.
© 2013 - 2024 Golavus
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ScottGrisham's avatar
For some reason I really love the idea of Sara in a leather jacket.
To quote Grandma Marie, 'We're pretty sharp ladies.' They certainly are, both in dress and crime solving/snooping.
I love it that Sara hates hogties. It makes it more interesting when the girl detective hates a certain form of binding or gagging, adds more personality and spice to the distress scene.
Great intro to White Rose University.
Is it a coincidence that there's a Scarlet Rose and a White Rose in your stories? Or is there more to it?