Sara Ennis

The Abduction of Rosie B

A short thriller

First published by Good Girl Charlie 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Sara Ennis

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter 1

I’m sixteen years old and I’m suffering a ludicrous existential crisis.

To quote Alanis Morissette, storytelling genius of the 1990s, isn’t it ironic? The person I go to when I’m feeling icky is the source of my current ickiness. Acknowledging the irony only makes me more annoyed.

I’m aware it’s normal to miss your sister when she goes to college, but Grace is the yin to my yang. The light to my dark. Without her, half of me is missing.

In eight months, I can go to college, too. I could stalk Grace and follow her to Stanford. But nah. I’m thinking I’ll join a cirque. Not a big commercial one which a permanent show in Vegas. Maybe a troupe that travels the world, performing in small venues. A nice entrée into adulthood.

That thought cheers me a bit. I need some retail therapy. My favorite therapist is Funky Finds Vintage in Venice. It’s an hour’s drive from home, which is ridiculous, but LA is LA. That’s the perfect amount of time to listen to music, enjoy the ocean breeze, and get out of my head. I point Willy, my 1964 citrus orange Jeep wagon, north along the coast. Redondo Beach, Hermosa Beach, Manhattan Beach, Playa Del Rey, Marina Del Rey.

I’ve been thinking about how my parentage informs the creature that is Rosebud Baden. I never met my bio dad; he never even knew about me. He was a hero, possibly even a superhero, who died protecting a toddler from a madman. From what I’ve been told, he gifted me my “kaleidoscope eyes” and a daredevil attitude.

I did know my birth mother, although not well. She was beautiful, smart, kind, popular. And very messed up, mentally. She died a couple of days after my twelfth birthday, and it was pretty traumatic. From her, I inherited my stubbornness and my intelligence.

Peter Baden is technically my grandfather, but he adopted me at birth (long story). I’m surrounded by people who love and like me. I have never had a single moment of feeling unwanted or unloved, or even misunderstood.

Which is why it pisses me off that I seem to be going through a tedious bout of teen angst. I’m better than this. I’m self-aware and emotionally intelligent, most of the time.

Bah.

Shopping will have to do.

Funky Finds Vintage is on a small side street near the boardwalk in Venice. Finding a parking spot on the same block is a miracle in itself. The fates are on my side today, and that causes me to skip from Willy to the store. There’s something special waiting; I feel it.

The double doors are open wide, the sounds and smells of Venice spreading their magic over the fabrics inside. In the front window, a mannequin is dressed in a fringed leather Hendrix-style jacket over a psychedelic shirt. Next to him, another plastic figure wears a boho wedding dress with huge bell sleeves and miles of lace.

Peter calls me his Parisian goth elf and the label fits. I recently dyed my blonde hair black and cut it into a long, messy shag, which I love. The dark color intensifies the blue, grey, green and gold in my eyes. I’m wearing Army-issued green cargo pants, a basic black tank top and vintage Vans skater shoes. An appropriate ensemble for Venice.

Simone, the owner, spots me as soon as I’m inside and calls, “Rosie! I’ve been holding a special piece. One sec!”

The shop is quiet, just me and a girl a bit younger than me. She’s pawing through party dresses. She looks completely lost.

Helping others is good medicine, too. I explore the rack of sundresses near her. “It can be overwhelming, right?”

The girl nods and gives a half smile. She’s cute, maybe thirteen or fourteen, with perfectly straight blonde hair that falls down her back in a silky shimmer. “I’m meeting a boy.” She doesn’t say, “and want to look like a princess,” but it’s kind of obvious from her dreamy expression.

“First date?” I pull out a royal blue jumpsuit from the 70s and study it. As is, it’s much too long for me, which is a common problem when you’re only five-foot-three. But I can cut the legs and make it a romper. I check the tag; it’s a department store brand so I won’t feel bad reconstructing it.

“First date ever,” the girl whispers the confession.

“Exciting! Are you going to a dance?” I point to the party dresses.

She shakes her head, no. “I – he’s taking me to dinner and a movie.” Her hand rests on one of the dresses, a silky red slip that would be too much for dinner and a movie even if she was in her twenties.

“That sounds fun. That dress might be a bit too fancy, though.” I grin. “I’m always trying to overdress. I love clothes!”

The girl chews her lip. “I’m not sure what to wear.” She’s currently in a school uniform. Some of the private schools start earlier in the year than the public schools. If she’s ditching, and I’m pretty sure she is, I don’t think this date is parent-approved.

Simone glides up next to me with a vintage leather jacket in shades of blues and corals.

I gasp and reach for it. “Where did you find it?”

“Estate sale in the Hollywood Hills. I swear it’s brand new.” Simone looks totally pleased with herself. She should. It’s a stunner.

Normally, I’m a bargain hunter and a cheapskate, but for something like this, I’ll break out the plastic. “Of course, I want it.”

Therapist Simone has done a fine job; my mood is immensely improved. I notice the girl watching us, and I get the feeling she’s hoping I’ll help her, but she’s afraid to ask.

When Simone takes my new jacket to the register, I turn to the kid. “Dinner and a movie, huh? So maybe something casual, but pretty. You’d look great in warm, bright colors. What about this?” I hold up a Free People sundress with a sunset-hued skirt and crocheted bodice. Her eyes light up.

“He’d like that!” She takes the dress from me and adds, tentatively, “Thank you, Rosie.”

“You’re welcome.” I laugh. Apparently, we’re friends now. I’m good with that. “What’s your name?”

“Mandy.” She beams, pleased that I asked, and disappears into the dressing room.

Simone and I are waiting when Mandy comes out. “That was made for you!” Simone and I fuss a bit because it’s fun and Mandy is eating it up. Simone brings out a pair of sparkly flats. I find a beaded pendant necklace and hold it out.

The kid is glowing. I get the feeling she doesn’t have friends or someone at home to hype her up, make her feel good. That sets off alarm bells.

“What’s the lucky boy’s name? Is he in your class?” I smile big, so she doesn’t feel defensive.

Mandy is hooking the necklace around her neck. “His name is Jared. I met him on Snapchat. He lives in Orange County.”

I come from a family whose whole reason for being is about protecting the vulnerable from monsters who do harm. Red flags send a wave of goosebumps over my skin. “Oh, yeah? Where are you meeting him?” I keep my tone upbeat.

“At the Cantina, around the corner.” The crocheted top, sparkly sandals and beaded necklace have transformed Mandy from shy middle school kid to California beach hottie. Shit.

I finish paying for my new jacket and adopt my best perky voice. “I love the Cantina. Their queso is the best!” Being a teen myself, I know that if I question the wisdom of meeting this boy, Mandy will get defensive and be determined to prove she’s capable of making her own decisions. I consider suggesting I come along to meet Jared, but there’s a possibility she’ll see me as a threat.

Simone offers to help Mandy touch up her makeup. I don’t think she has the same feelings of dread about this situation, but Simone doesn’t come from my family, my experiences. I pluck one of the store’s business cards off the counter and write my Snapchat handle and cell number on the back. “I need to hear how it goes! Hit me up later?”

The look of joy on Mandy’s face sucks me in even deeper. I’m sure I’m right; she has very few, if any, friends. Being fawned over by two older girls is likely as exciting as meeting the boy.

I realize Willy is parked where I can easily see the Cantina. After I tuck my new jacket in the back seat, I put in my ear pods. Jeeps didn’t come equipped with Bluetooth back in the sixties and my beloved Willy is original, except for the color. All his windows are down because it’s a beautiful day, warm and blue. With the beach, and the surf, and the people on skateboards and bikes and blades and boards it’s lively. Alive.

When Mandy comes out onto the sidewalk, she’s not carrying a bag. Where’s her uniform? Maybe she left it with Simone. I hope she put the card with my info in a pocket and didn’t leave it behind.

Just in case.

She looks excited, and happy. Because she’s not an idiot, she also looks just a little bit nervous. I hope to God I’m wrong, and Jared is a normal kid using tech to meet the girl of his dreams.

Within a minute I know I’m right and I’m pissed. An older four door Lexus sedan pulls up to the curb just ahead of Mandy, who doesn’t notice. The back passenger door swings open and a muscular man steps out. He’s at least six feet, with dark hair graying at the temples, and a lot of visible tats. I’m a fan of body art, but these look like the kind of tattoos done in prison. The man who is definitely not Jared is wearing black jeans and a black muscle tank.

I hear him say, “Mandy!” and she turns, a bright smile on her face. Her smile falls. She’s puzzled but not connecting the dots just yet.

The man moves fast, closing the short distance between them. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her tight to his side, and navigates her between him and the car. I can see she’s embarrassed, feels awkward by her frightened reaction, worried she’ll offend him. He pulls her tighter and fear outweighs her concern about being rude to an adult. She tries to run. He grabs her arms and muscles her toward the open back door of the waiting sedan. Hands belonging to some invisible person in the back seat reach out and pull her inside. One of the new sparkly sandals falls off as the tall man forces her legs inside and slides in after her.

He’s not a prince, and this isn’t Cinderella.

The car pulls away.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I yank the pods from my ear and drop them to the passenger seat. I yell a voice command at my phone. “Call Peter!” The phone pings to tell me it heard me, but nothing happens. Goddamn it.

“Text Dad!” I try again.

“What shall I say?” The stupid robot voice asks.

“I just saw a young girl get taken. I’m following at a safe distance. Call me ASAP!” Stay calm, Rosie. Deep breaths. Maybe that’s Mandy’s father and he found out she ditched school to meet a boy. Except she looked scared to death. Not the kind of scared you look when your dad busts you doing something wrong. Unless Dad’s an abuser…

The robot repeats my words and asks, “Shall I send to Dad?”

“Yes!” I shout. I love the idea of tech, but it feels like it’s always just a bit harder than it should be. Tech companies need to do some more testing before they release their robots into the wild. I suppose users have become the testers.

I pull Willy onto the street and follow the white Lexus, not getting too close. If I don’t hear from Peter in the next minute or two, I’ll call 911.

The Lexus stays on Washington for a block, then turns onto Pacific. I’m back two cars but I can see a lot of movement in the back of the sedan. Mandy is fighting. Good girl! The Lexus makes a left onto a residential street, and I follow, losing the safety of other cars between us. The Lexus speeds away. They must’ve noticed me. Damn it!

I yell at the phone to call 911. The call actually goes through and I’m greeted by a harried-sounding dispatcher. “911 what’s your emergency?”

“I just saw a young girl grabbed off the street in front of the Cantina in Venice. White Lexus sedan.” I recite what I remember of the license plate. “I followed them, but I think they spotted me because they took off – “

My focus is on my conversation, which is how I miss the fact that the Lexus came around the block and is now next to me. I don’t notice until my door is yanked open, and I’m jerked out. My phone falls to Willy’s floorboard. I can hear the 911 operator’s voice, distant and annoyed. “Hello?”

The same man who grabbed Mandy now has my arms in a brutal grip that hurts to the bone. “Nosy bitch. Shoulda minded your own.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see the back door of the Lexus fling open. I’m shoved inside, headfirst. It happens so fast I don’t have time to gather my wits, much less fight. Peter would be disappointed that all the personal safety training he’s invested in was useless when it actually mattered.

The man follows me into the car and slams the door. “Drive!”

The Lexus moves forward, and I try to wiggle into a sitting position, but there’s no room. I’m in a half-ball in the tight space behind the driver’s seat, trapped by feet. There’s a man blocking either door and Mandy is sniffling on the seat between them.

She stares at me, shock making her eyes big.

The man who grabbed Mandy and me seems to be in charge. I name him as George because he kind of reminds me of a low-rent George Clooney. The other guy in the backseat is younger, smaller. Quiet. He doesn’t look happy to be here. Is this Jared?

George is staring at me, angry, but also curious. I suppose in a twisted way it’s his lucky day. Two young girls for the price of one. He nudges me with his foot, and smiles when I grab his shoe and push it away from me. “Tough one, eh? This’ll be fun.”

I meet his gaze and keep my expression neutral. Screw you, asshole. I’m not going to make this easy, much less fun! “I hope you grabbed my keys. This isn’t the best area to leave a car running.”

My tone catches him off guard, but he tries to cover it up. He dangles me my keychain, which is a brightly painted ceramic daisy. “As soon as we land, I’ll send someone to get it.”

“Perfect, thanks!” Again, I see a flicker of what the hell in his brown eyes.

We must not be going far if he thinks Willy will still be in the middle of the street. Good to know.

That assumption proves to be true. The Lexus turns right, and then slows to a crawl, and I hear the whirr of an electric garage door. We’ve ‘landed.’

Jared opens his door, slides out, and pulls Mandy after him. She doesn’t put up a fight.

Now that there’s room, I clamber onto the seat. George watches me like I’m an interesting bug. I’m really glad I’m not wearing a skirt.

George doesn’t move to get out of the car. He faces me. “You think you’re tough, eh?”

I shrug and give him a half-smile. “I’m definitely not made of sugar.”

That makes him laugh. “Good to know.” He pulls something from between his hip and the door and sets it on his lap. My handbag. I suck in my lips to keep from reacting. Oh, dude. You made a huge mistake. George unzips the green suede pouch and pulls out the change purse I use as a wallet. There’s not a lot in it: a handful of change, lipstick, a credit card, a stack of small bills, and my ID. He studies the ID. “Rosebud? Seriously?”

“It’s a family thing.”

He grunts. “Well, Rosebud Baden, you’ve got yourself in a bit of a predicament.”

I nod in agreement. “That does appear to be the case.”

“Do you know Mandy?”

“Nope. Just met her today.”

“Then why the hell did you decide to insert yourself into something that has nothing to do with you?”

I shrug again, and give a half-smile. “Can’t help it. It’s the family business.”

“Being nosy?” George scoffs. His eyes narrow. “Your family cops?”

“More like private FBI.”

Those brown eyes flash irritably, and I’m happy to see there’s a little bit of discomfort. “What the hell is private FBI?”

“They spend a lot of time looking for people who aren’t where they’re supposed to be.” I smile fully now. “Like me.” I’m glad he hasn’t connected the name Baden. I definitely don’t want this to become a ransom situation, because those don’t always turn out so well. Not that trafficking abductions do, either, but the financial stakes aren’t as high, or as immediate.

“Little girl, you shoulda just minded your own. Now, you’re going to suffer what we call consequences. Get out.” He nods toward the door Jared left open and I obediently slide across the seat and step out. I don’t make any effort to run. Instead, I look around. We’re in a warehouse. Literal mountains of fabric rise from the concrete floor. This is one of those places that buys discarded clothing by the pound. Some lucky soul’s job is to sort through it all, looking for gold. I’m a tiny bit jealous.

“Ooh!” I move toward the nearest pile and start pawing through.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” George demands. “Girl, you’re not in a boutique. You’re in deep shit. Today is not going to be a good shopping day. At least not for you!”

I roll my eyes in his direction. “Every day is a good shopping day, George.”

He makes a ‘what the hell’ face. “Who the eff is George?”

“You didn’t bother to introduce yourself, so I’ve decided you’re George.”

“You’re freaking insane. Nuts. Crazy.” George proclaims.

“And you’re rude!” I say without any heat. I turn back to the pile of clothes and start pulling pieces. There really is some good stuff here.

Somewhere nearby I hear Mandy cry out and that stops my antics. I want to protest that she’s just a kid, but that’s the point, isn’t it? Bastards. So many bastards. “I know you’re not going to appreciate this, but your life would be much better if you let Mandy and me go now.”

That elicits a snort, and I can’t blame him. To him, I’m a goth elf, not a warrior princess. My heart has returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, and I can think clearly. Despite appearances, I’m relatively safe at this particular moment. I could use some of the skills I’ve acquired to escape. But I’m not leaving without Mandy.

“Come on. Enough screwing around.” George clamps a hand around my wrist and drags me behind him in the direction of Mandy’s sobs.

A large glass window divides the warehouse from offices. I can see Mandy through the window. Her dress is on the floor, and she’s cowering against a white wall in nothing but red panties. She’s trying to cover her breasts. A third man – the driver, I guess? – is taking photos with his phone.

Just past Mandy and the driver, an open door exposes a scene that makes my heart sink and my gut rumble. A naked girl is curled up on a filthy-looking mattress. Bruises are visible on her pale skin, even from here. She’s not moving, but her eyes are open, glassy. I wonder if they drugged her.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

Jared is sitting on an ugly old couch, studying the floor. No idea how the kid got roped into this, but he’s not into it. That will come in handy later.

It hits me that I’m probably about to lose my clothes, too, and that Mandy and I are destined to the same future as the girl on the mattress. That takes my bravado down several notches while at the same time motivating me to do something now.

Shit, shit, shit. I make a decision, not just for me, but also for Mandy, and the girl on the mattress. I drop into a sit and feel cold concrete through the seat of my cotton pants.

“Get your ass up.” George commands. His grip on my wrist tightens and burns.

“Nope.” I stretch out and lay as flat as I can, ignoring the pain, nearly parallel to the floor.

“Just plain wacky,” George mutters, bending to reach for my other wrist.

He doesn’t see the kick coming. He’s nearly a foot taller than me, and a hundred pounds heavier, so he’s definitely got that going for him. But I’m small and limber and trained in both acrobatics and self-defense. That gives me advantages, too. George isn’t expecting anything other than passive resistance, so when my left foot flies up and catches him in the balls, I win – at least for the moment. I know it hurts, but he’s got enough presence of mind to keep hold of my left wrist while he groans and drops down, straddling me to wait out the pain.

Furious, he puts his free hand over my face like an octopus and presses my head into the concrete.

I sink my teeth into his palm, hard. When I feel his body shift slightly, I buck up my hips and tip him off, and this time, George lets go of my wrist.

He shouts, and the driver comes running.

George is in a half-ball on the floor, holding his crotch and staring at his bloody hand. Rage and confusion are written all over his face. “You bitch! Crazy or not, you’re going to pay for that.”

I jump to my feet and back away, making “come for me” motions with my hand, taunting the beasts. The driver charges toward me while George tries to get himself up from the floor. I’m hoping Jared will let Mandy go and she’ll find somewhere to hide.

I need to get myself into the center of the warehouse.

The driver is shorter than George, and fat, but under the fat there’s muscle, and more worrisome, there’s meanness. It’s clear in his eyes as he moves toward me, the pissed-off bull in a matador’s arena. If I can back up another ten feet, I see a way to get clear.

If.

“Don’t have time for yo games, bitch!” the bull snarls, moving faster. Behind him, George is on his feet, nursing both his hand and his groin.

This area’s not well-lit. The ceiling high above is shadowy. There’s a column in the center of the large room, and it’s got metal piping running perpendicular, probably carrying electric wiring. Exactly what I need. It takes me only a couple of seconds to climb the tube and nestle myself into the mess of plumbing and electric conduit that runs along the ceiling fifteen feet up. Lookit me, I’m bat girl.

“What. The. Fuck.” The bull growls. “Girl, get your ass down from there before I pull out my gun and use you for target practice.”

Crap. I guess I knew there would be weapons, but they haven’t shown them so that detail hasn’t been front of mind. For now, I’m going to make like a monkey and swing from the vines and hope to God Peter and the guys in white hats show up soon.

“You really are absolutely insane, aren’t you?” George is amazed. Impressed, even. Then his tone hardens. “Gonna be a shame to shoot your cute ass but Jesus, girl, you’re too much work.”

Kinda the point, dude. Kinda the point.

I’m able to shimmy through and around the maze of pipes that run along the ceiling, retreating farther into the darkness. If I’m honest, I need to realize Peter and the good guys may not be anywhere nearby. They might still be trying to figure out what’s happening. Peter may not remember the air tag he gave me. Or he may not think to check it, since he doesn’t know it never left my purse and got into the backpack I’m taking to Stanford when I visit Grace in a couple of weeks.

My cockiness comes from a place of confidence that Peter will protect me, always. And I know he will if he can.

But what if he can’t? He’s not freaking magic.

Except he is. At that very moment, chaos erupts. The garage door slides up. A dozen men in black storm in. I hear Mandy scream, but not like she’s hurt. George is too surprised to fight. The driver, though, he tries to run his fat ass away and ends up tripping over a T-shirt that’s fallen out of one of the piles. It’s got a pink bunny on the front. I like that.

“Rosie! Rosebud!” I hear Peter before I see him. He bursts into the warehouse, looking both in charge, and panicked.

George looks up at me as cops surround him. “Private FBI?”

I shimmy across the pipes until I’m above a large mound of clothes and drop down. I dust myself off and nod. “Private FBI.”

To my surprise, George smiles. “You for sure are not made of sugar.”

“When you get out, explore another career, will ya?” I go to Peter and let him squish me in a bear hug. “Thank you for finding us.”

“What was that about?” He nods at George and kisses me on top of my head.

“Remember that story Ransom of Red Chief (1)? Marnie read it to us when we were little, and you used to say I reminded you of the kid.”

Peter snorts. “Holy hell. They had no chance.”

“Nope.” I squeeze him harder. “No chance at all.”

THE END

(1) Ransom of Red Chief is one of my favorite short stories and the inspiration for this story.

How far would you go to change your past? Meet Rosie’s parents and find out what one man will do in The Dollhouse (in paperback, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited).

About the Author

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