Rescue Hammer

Flash Fiction from the Vault

At a house party bathed in flickering lights and pulsing music, Mike met Lila, a dark-haired young woman with a captivating South African accent.

“From South Africa,” Mike remarked, “with a bit of Valley in there?”

Lila smiled. “Guilty, maybe. I’ve lived in California for a while now.”

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Sure, I am. I just moved to a place outside the city.”

“I like that you’re here.”

She laughed. “That’s a terrible line.”

“But it worked.”

Lila described the power problems at her new home. Mike confessed he worked for the power company.

“Oh, so it’s all your fault?” she asked.

Drawn to her vivacity and charm, Mike found conversation effortless. His one-liners even made her laugh.

The evening ended with a tender kiss and the promise of something more.

“Promise you’ll call me.” Lila’s eyes held his.

The next day, Mike kept his promise, but Lila didn’t answer.

He tried again that afternoon. The call went straight to voicemail.

His first thought ran, ‘She’s ghosted me.’ They only met the night before. Maybe she changed her mind? Yet a deeper instinct refused to let the matter rest.

Mike called Melanie, the friend who introduced them.

“Just call Lila. You don’t need to mention me. If she’s fine, all is good.”

Melanie called him back ten minutes later.

“I can’t reach her either.”

“Is that normal?”

“No, not at all.”

“Do you have her new address?”

A stocky, imposing man met Mike on the porch. “Can I help you?” His thick South African accent matched Lila’s.

“I’m looking for Lila. She asked me to come by.”

The man’s expression hardened. “I’m her uncle Pieter. She’s not available, yah? You bugger off now, right, man?”

Mike studied his sun-aged face, searching for some hint of honesty. “Ask her to turn on her phone, at least. Her friends are worried.”

Pieter met his gaze, cold and unwavering. “Look, she won’t be available for some time.”

He stepped into Mike’s space.

“I suggest you leave.”

At the police station, the desk sergeant refused to take a missing-person report.

“You met her one night ago, and she’s an adult,” he said. “Besides, she’s with family.”

Mike left with his concern undiminished. His gut twisted tighter, so he turned to José, a squat, resourceful colleague at the power company.

“José, I need your help. It’s about a girl named Lila. Something’s wrong.”

Mike explained what little he knew.

José nodded. “I have daughters. Count me in.”

They approached the house after dark. Mike chose a high basement window and climbed through while José pounded on the front door to draw Pieter away.

Footsteps creaked above Mike’s head.

A struggle followed.

The basement door burst open, and José tumbled down the stairs. Pieter charged after him.

Mike crouched beneath the wooden treads and grabbed a cobwebbed fourteen-pound sledgehammer from the wall.

Pieter reached the final step.

Mike swung low.

The hammer struck Pieter’s leg with a sickening crack. Pieter howled and pitched forward, crashing beside the stone hearth of the cellar fireplace.

Mike dropped the hammer and hurried to José.

“You okay?”

José pushed himself upright and winced. “I’ll live. Find her.”

A padlocked door stood across the cellar.

Mike retrieved the sledgehammer.

One blow bent the hasp. The second tore it from the frame.

He wrenched the door open.

Lila sat inside, frightened and bruised, but alive.

“Mike?”

“I’ve got you.”

He lifted her into his arms.

“José, let’s get out of here.”

Months later, Mike stood in court and recounted the events of that night.

The judge studied him over the rim of her glasses.

“Mr Michael Johnson, you entered the property because you believed Ms Lila van der Berg faced immediate danger. When Mr Pieter van der Berg attacked Mr José Gutierrez and then advanced toward you, you acted in defence of others and yourself.”

She paused.

“This court finds you not guilty.”

Outside the courthouse, Lila turned to Mike, her eyes wet with gratitude.

“You saved my life.”

Mike smiled.

“Seeing you safe, Lila—that’s all the thanks I need.”