Fractured Steve Rock Published by Rock Creative Partnerships (PTY) Distributed by Smashwords Copyright Steve Rock 2019 License notes No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

S T E V E R O C K
F R A C T
U R E D
A d e v a s t a t i n g s h o r t s t o r y

Fractured
Steve Rock
Published by Rock Creative Partnerships (PTY)
Copyright Steve Rock 2019
License notes
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 publisher or the author. Meaning, in less legal words, that
this ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like
to share this work with another person, the author, (that’s me), would love
for you to purchase a copy, or donate what you think it is worth via the
website rockcreativepartnerships. If you’re reading this book and didn’t
pay for it, lucky you! But I implore you, if you enjoy it to donate something
so I can keep on doing what I love and you can keep on reading what I
produce. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

He thought life was good.
Until it wasn't.
A successful, confident and smart wife, Alexi. Two children, a
boy aged 5, Solomon, and a girl who was about to turn 20
months, Carrie. A job that allowed him to work from home 3
days a week from an exclusive cut-de-sac in Bournemouth,
which was a 20 minute drive from the sea. Des Lambert, 45, for
as long as he could remember always dreamt of a home with
sea view. Okay, so he couldn’t see the sea from his house, the
family budget could only stretch to being able to smell the sea if
the wind blew in a favourable direction. Today, when Des closed
his eyes, he could smell the sea as if he were inches away from
the fresh water rolling over his feet.
Opening his eyes he ran his left hand over his stubble, moving
upwards, rubbing his face, glancing at his wedding ring smiling.
He then brought into vision his two precious children who were
both sat waiting eagerly for their lunch. Carrie, with her mop of
dark curls, sat in the high chair screaming ‘No!’ at the top of her
lungs. This had always made Des smile as he knew Carrie didn’t
actually mean ‘no.’, she just liked how the word made her feel.
The TV seemed to be permanently on children’s BBC and yet
the children rarely watched it. The back ground noise created an
ambience that his children could dip in and out of. Carrie always
took Solomon’s lead, the more noise he made, Carrie was
compelled to do better. The Lambert household was rarely a
quiet place.

While listening to a purple furry puppet sing the alphabet, Des
made his way over to the patio doors; as he opened them the
cool air instantly filled the room and silenced all noise. For a
moment peace descended. ‘Ok, food time!’ The kids cheered,
making Dad feel like what he was about to create was nothing
short of miraculous. Confidently bounding out of the room,
without looking back he announced in a faux American game
show accent, ‘Coming right back kids.’
The microwave whirred into action while Des poured the water
for one and juice for the other into short glasses. The brightly
coloured plastic cups couldn’t be found.) As he opened the
drawers to the cutlery he momentarily became confused, why
is wife constantly felt the need to move things was beyond him.
A few drawers later the cutlery was found, the adult cutlery. In
that moment Des decided he would simply feed Carrie as
leaving her with a metal pointy object simply wasn't worth the
risk. The microwave peeped, signaling that the mess could
commence. With the food side by side on a tray with the word
‘Love’ inscribed, Des walked back into the TV room, a shooting
pain flashed between his eyes as the tray crashed to the
polished stone floor.
The children, along with the seats they were sat in were gone.
The patio doors were still open but the TV was switched off.
Fearful, he retraces his steps back to the kitchen, calling their
names while trying to suppress the foreboding sense of dread.

Panic rises in his throat as he calls their names, this time
louder. He is mocked by a deathly silence. Running outside
of the patio doors, now screaming their names, Des feels a
complete loss of control. Around the back garden, up
stairs…nothing. Sprinting down the stairs, three at a time,
Des closes the patio doors behind him before making his
way to the front door, reaching for an ill fitting coat from the
stand pulling the vibrant red door closed behind him.
Des’ world was being squeezed as walking immediately
became an alien concept. The short distance across the ten
house cul-de-sac may as well been a country mile as Des
struggled to place one foot directly in front of the other.
Finally arriving at number 6 Clover Way Des rings the bell,
waits and then rings again. Nobody answers. The door to
number 7 opens as a short, squat bald man steps out, car
keys jangling on the ends of his hairy stumpy fingers, ‘Hi
Des, everything ok? Haven’t seen you in a while. Everything
ok?’ Ignoring the greeting Des urgently steps towards the
man, forcing him to retreat closer to the threshold of his own
house. Des blurts, ‘Have you seen my children?’ The
neighbour furrows his brow and saddened slowly shakes his
glistening bald head. Spinning quickly around Des leaves the
neighbour to fade away into his peripheral vision. With blood
pounding in his head Des steps blindly off the path into the
road and is nearly hit by a car; without break-in his stride he
sprints to another house, franticly knocking the door.

'Carol, Carol, someone’s taken the kids!’ Des notices a
twitch at the lace net covering the window, a few seconds
later the front door slowly opens with the latch still
attached.
'I’m sorry, no Carol lives here.’ The door slams shut. With
tears in his eyes a mixture of rage and fear grips Des and
with clenched fists he slams upon the door, demanding
Carol open up, he needs her help. The door remains
unmoved while a secondary bolt is heard siding across.
Confused, Des steps backwards, not breaking gaze with
the front door, ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Briskly pacing back to his house, eyes darting around
looking for any clues Des fumbles in his pocket in search of
a mobile phone that he hasn’t seen in as long as he can
remember. Approaching the cobalt blue door he places his
weight on it to open with no avail. Striding to the side of the
house he vaults up and over the wall, crushing what must
be recently planted flowers, he attempts to open the patio
doors. As he tries to force his way in he witnesses a family
of four sat having dinner, staring incredulously back at
him.
Time stops. Des crunches both fists against the
strengthened glass, screaming, ‘What are you doing in my
house?!’ at which point a gaunt lady stands, picks up a
phone as the lithe male moves swiftly to the patio doors,
pulling the blinds shut.

Des jogs to the side of the house and clambers back over
the wall to find most of the cul-de-sac are stood outside
watching his every move. His long time neighbour, Paul,
walks slowly towards him palms open, facing Des as if trying
to pacify a confused or cornered dog. "It's ok Des, it's ok.'
'What do you mean? Where are my children? What have you
done with my children?' Sobs Des.
The crowd watch in stunned silence as Des shifts from one
foot to the next with an awkward rhythm. 'Calm down Des,
you're scaring people.' 'I don't give a fuck if I'm scaring
people, don't you understand, someone has taken my
children!' As if conducted, the crowd collectively turn as one
organism focusing on the direction of approaching police
sirens.
The clinically efficient police try their best to talk Des down
but he had already breached the thin line that separates
what's considered sane behaviour into threatening and mildly
insane behaviour. Des embarks on a violent verbal rampage
accusing the assembled audience of being complicit in the
disappearance of his children by not doing enough to help
find them. The tension is palpable as the police screech to a
halt; doing their utmost to diffuse the increasing ire leaking
from every pore of Des' body. 'Calm down Sir, we re trying to
help.'

Des' shoulders hunch as he stalks forward, 'You're not helping,
you're not helping, my children have gone missing and you're
fucking talking to me!' One officer takes two steps back, raising
an open palm, 'Sir, I have to ask you to step back.' Des doesn’t
listen, or doesn’t hear. The second police officer places his hand
on the handle of the taser.
Paul had lived in the cut-de-sac long enough to remember Des
when he was happily married with two children. That was six
years ago.
Before they were abducted, never to be seen again.
Des’ house had been sold 3 times since then and yet every
anniversary he would return to the once quiet cul-de-sac of
Clover Way re-living that day, the confusion, the eternal pain.
But soon enough, he will once again think that life is good, until it
isn't.
###
Thank you for taking the time to read this short story. I
appreciate your investment. If you enjoyed it please consider
leaving a review or send me an email.
Best wishes,
Steve Rock

About the author
Steve Rock is active in a range of creative industries from
TV, children’s books to the spoken word, all of which are
connected by his immense love of writing.
Coming soon!
Other titles by Steve Rock
The Seed
The Phone Call
Altitude Effects Attitude – The Haikus
The Balloon
Fishing in the Desert
Connect with me:
YouTube:bitly.com/steverockpoet
Instagram @steverockpoet
Facebook @steverockpoet
email - iamsteverock@gmail.com
More creative expressions of Steve Rock
https://steverockpoet.wordpress.com