Gone Missing In One Night E-Book

Joan Borthwick

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 195

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

When Sarah Crawford walks into a crowded bar for what should be a routine night out, she doesn’t expect to witness something that will change her life forever.

In the middle of the noise and laughter, she spots a woman, Cindy, being forcefully led out by a man who doesn’t belong. No one else sees it. No one else cares. Brushed off as drunk or paranoid, Sarah is left alone with the weight of what she knows she saw.

But when Cindy vanishes without a trace, Sarah becomes the only person willing to chase the truth. Driven by guilt and a relentless determination, she uncovers a shadowy world of secrets, where nothing is as it seems and the stakes are life or death.

Someone wants the past to stay buried—and now, they're watching her. The closer Sarah gets to uncovering what happened that night, the more dangerous it becomes.

Cindy’s disappearance was just the beginning. If Sarah can’t solve the mystery in time, she’ll be the next to disappear.

Leseprobe

Gone Missing In One Night

Table Of Contents

Witnessing The Horror

The Cryptic Note

Initial Investigation Begins

The Phone Number

A Fleeting Glimpse

Tracing The Phone Number

Unexpected Connections

Confrontation and Danger

Unveiling Secrets

A Dangerous Ally

Betrayal and Deception

The Hidden Identity

Shifting Alliances

The Trap

Close Call

Gathering Evidence

The Confrontation Begins

Unexpected Twist

Desperate Measures

The Reveal

The Chase

Unexpected Help

Showdown

The Rescue

Aftermath

Cindy's Recovery

Sarah's Transformation

Justice Served

New Beginnings

Lingering Questions

Dedication

To all the courageous women who have faced adversity with Unwavering strength and resilience. This story is a testament to your inner fortitude, ability to overcome unimaginable challenges, and steadfast spirit in the face of darkness. It is a tribute to your inherent capacity for bravery, even when fear threatens to consume you. May this book serve as a reminder that within each of us lies a power far greater than we often realize, a power that can lead us to triumph over even the most daunting obstacles. This is for the women who fight, persevere, and ultimately emerge victorious from the shadows. For those who dare to challenge the darkness and find the light within, this story is dedicated to you. Your strength Inspires us all. Your courage echoes on every page. Your unwavering belief in yourselves is a beacon of hope in a world that often tries to dim that light. Thank you for being the heroes we so frequently need. This is for you.

Preface

The seed of this story was planted not in a moment of fanciful imagination but in the chilling reality of the world around us. News reports, whispers of fear, and the constant undercurrent of danger that permeates modern life served as the fertile ground from which this tale grew. We live in a time where the vulnerability of This is a stark and unsettling reality for individuals, particularly women. This book is not merely a work of fiction, but an exploration of that vulnerability and, more importantly, women's extraordinary resilience. Strength and resilience to overcome it. Sarah Crawford, the The protagonist of this thriller is not a superhero; she is an ordinary woman thrust into extraordinary circumstances. She reflects us all, capable of both profound fear and astonishing courage. I hope that, through her journey, readers will not only be captivated by the suspenseful narrative but also inspired by Sarah’s inner strength and unwavering determination. I intend for this book to remind me that hope, resilience, and the will to fight can prevail even in the darkest hours. This is more than just a thriller; it's a testament to the human spirit's ability to endure, overcome, and find strength where it seems none exists.

Introduction

Sarah Crawford's life takes an unexpected and terrifying turn on what began as an ordinary evening. After witnessing the abduction of a fellow bar patron, Cindy throws Sarah into a world of danger and intrigue she could never have imagined. Cindy’s desperate plea for help, a cryptic note, and a fleeting glimpse of the abductor are all that Sarah has to guide her in a race against time. The police investigation stalls, leaving Sarah feeling alone and frustrated.

However, with her innate sense of justice and a growing fear for Cindy's safety, she embarks on a dangerous quest to uncover the truth. This isn't simply a case of a missing person; it's a descent into a web of secrets, lies, and betrayals, where Sarah’s every step is fraught with peril. The closer she gets to the truth, the more she uncovers a conspiracy far exceeding the initial abduction. This story will take you on a harrowing journey alongside Sarah as she navigates treacherous paths, confronts her vulnerabilities, and faces unexpected threats. Expect twists and turns that will keep you guessing until the end, forcing you to question everything and everyone. Prepare to be immersed in a world of suspense where the lines between victim and perpetrator blur and the only certainty is the relentless ticking of the clock. Sarah's determination to save Cindy will test her limits and ultimately reveal a strength she never knew she possessed. Get ready for a thrilling ride, a journey into the heart of darkness, and the remarkable resilience of the human spirit.

Witnessing the Horror

The bass throbbed in Sarah's chest, a physical counterpoint to the nervous flutter in her stomach. She’d met her friend, Lisa, at “The Rusty Mug,” a dimly lit haven of sticky floors and questionable beer, for a casual Friday night drink. The air hung thick with the scent of stale beer, sweat, and something vaguely floral, a perfume attempting, and failing, to mask the inherent grit of the place. It was loud and chaotic, where you could easily get lost in the crowd. That’s precisely what happened to Cindy.

With her cascade of fiery red hair and a dress that shimmered under the low lights, Cindy had been sitting alone at the bar, nursing a drink and looking… anxious. Sarah had noticed her earlier, a flicker of unease in her eyes that hadn't registered until now. Then, a man approached. He wasn’t overtly threatening, just… imposing. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a face obscured by shadow, he wore a dark coat that swallowed him whole in the dim lighting.

The conversation, if it could be called that, was brief, sharp, and laced with an undercurrent of tension that vibrated across the room. Half-absorbed in her conversation with Lisa, Sarah had only caught snatches of it – a clipped tone, a sharp intake of breath from Cindy, a word or two that registered as distress. Then, the man's hand shot out surprisingly fast, grabbing Cindy’s arm. A strangled cry escaped her lips, muffled by the cacophony of the bar, almost lost in the surrounding noise.

Cindy struggled, her red dress a flash of frantic movement in the dimly lit space. Fear, raw and palpable, radiated from her like heat.

In that instant, Sarah’s casual observation turned into horrified awareness. This wasn’t a drunken argument; this was an abduction. It was happening right before her, and she was frozen, paralyzed by the sheer brutality of the unfolding scene.

The man was strong, effortlessly overpowering Cindy’s resistance. He dragged her towards the exit, her protests swallowed by the other patrons' music and chatter. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they looked away, their gazes sliding past the drama

Unfolding with a practiced indifference. This chilling normality only heightened Sarah's fear and sense of isolation.

In a desperate, almost impossible act, Cindy twisted, her eyes locking with Sarah's for a fraction of a second. In that brief Moment, an unspoken plea passed between them, a silent scream of terror transcending the noise and the distance. And then, with a speed that seemed to defy human capability, Cindy pressed something small and thin into Sarah’s hand – a folded piece of paper, so light she almost didn't notice it – before being completely swallowed up by the man’s unrelenting grip, disappearing out the door into the night.

The music continued, and the laughter rippled through the bar, but the world around Sarah seemed to slow, to stretch into an agonizing silence. The image of Cindy’s terrified eyes, the frantic plea in her gaze, was seared into Sarah’s memory, a searing brand of fear that threatened to consume her entirely. She looked down at the paper in her hand, a small, crumpled note, the only tangible evidence of the horrifying event she had just witnessed.

The bar suddenly felt oppressive, a suffocating cocoon of false gaiety and obliviousness. The noise that had seemed a comforting blanket moments ago now felt like a mocking chorus, highlighting the chilling silence that filled the space where Cindy had once been.

Lisa, still oblivious, continued chatting animatedly to a stranger. Sarah, however, was no longer present. She was trapped in a scene playing on repeat, stuck in the horrifying loop of Cindy's struggle, her silent scream. This wasn’t just a random event; there was a sense of calculated precision, a chilling efficiency about the abduction that sent shivers down Sarah's spine.

Shaking, Sarah unfolded the paper. It was a small scrap of napkin torn from a cheap diner roll. Scribbled on it in hurried, uneven handwriting, almost illegible, was a phone number and a single, chilling word: “Help.” There was nothing else: no name, no location, nothing more than that desperate cry for assistance. The number was the only clue. Was it a safe house? A contact number? A deliberate trap? She couldn't decipher it.

The panic threatened to overwhelm her, but something within Sarah, a deep well of inner strength she hadn't known she possessed, surged to the surface. She couldn't just stand there, a silent witness to a crime. She had to do something. She had to find Cindy.

Her first instinct was to contact the police. It took an eternity to regain her composure enough to articulate the events, and the bar's loud music made it hard for her to make herself heard. The initial call was met with a mixture of skepticism and indifference. The bar's bouncer, a burly man with a surprisingly soft voice, claimed he'd seen nothing. Other patrons had either not noticed or offered vague descriptions of a man walking away. No one seemed to care. Their disinterest fueled Sarah's burgeoning anger.

Sarah knew the police would eventually investigate, but their response lacked the urgency the situation demanded. This was more than a simple abduction; it had all the hallmarks of something far more sinister and calculated. Cindy's desperate plea wasn't just for help; it felt like a warning: She was alone.

The police were dismissive, busy, overworked, and dealing with more pressing issues. She could sense their disinterest in Sarah’s seemingly unimportant story. Sarah’s report was filed, and she was instructed to go home, leaving her feeling utterly helpless and betrayed by the system designed to protect her fellow citizens. The officers didn't even bother to take a statement from Lisa, Sarah’s only witness, leaving her to her anxieties and the growing dread that what she had witnessed would soon fade into a mystery.

With no other option, Sarah decided to take matters into her own hands. She spent the rest of the night trying to decipher the cryptic note, staring at the phone number, trying to find patterns or clues. It was a random string of digits devoid of any logical structure that might pinpoint its origin. Nothing seemed to fit, yet she clung to it as the only lifeline to find Cindy.

The following day brought little comfort. The bar was empty, the remnants of the previous night's revelry swept away, replaced by the dreary, mundane reality of a weekday morning. The scene of

Cindy's abduction remained only in Sarah’s mind, a stark contrast to the oblivious indifference of the day. There was no visible trace of what had happened; it was as though her memory was an illusion, and yet it felt real.

Sarah's initial attempts to independently investigate were met with frustrating roadblocks. She revisited The Rusty Mug, hoping to find something – a dropped item, a discarded clue – something the police had overlooked. But the bar staff, though polite, were uncooperative, offering little more than vague shrugs and dismissive smiles. Their apathy felt like a wall, an active attempt to erase what had happened and to suffocate the truth before it took root.

She tried contacting the phone number on the scrap of paper. It went straight to voicemail, with a generic greeting that did not indicate its owner or purpose. She left a message, a desperate plea that felt as futile as her efforts to get the police to take her seriously. The void on the other end of the line felt as empty as she felt in her gut.

Sarah started questioning patrons that she had seen at the bar. A few people remembered the red-haired woman, Cindy, and some vaguely recalled seeing a man in a dark coat with her. Yet no one saw anything conclusive; no one had witnessed the abduction, and no one could pinpoint what happened. Their descriptions were blurry, fragmented, useless, and frustratingly vague.

Frustrated, Sarah returned to her apartment, the phone number and the cryptic note the only concrete evidence of the abduction. She felt an overwhelming surge of helplessness. The police were uninterested, the witnesses were unhelpful, and the phone number yielded nothing. She was alone, racing against time, a solitary figure in a city that had suddenly become a labyrinth of indifference and potential danger.

The weight of the situation pressed down on her, a suffocating blanket of fear and uncertainty. But underneath the fear, a stubborn spark of determination ignited. She wouldn't let Cindy disappear without a fight. She had to find her. She had to do something, and

she would.

The image of Cindy's terrified eyes haunted her, a constant reminder of the urgent task ahead. The word "Help" scribbled on that napkin was now a battle cry, a promise she made to a stranger, a promise she was determined to keep. Cindy realized her fate rested solely on her shoulders. The clock was ticking, and the chase had begun.

The Cryptic Note

The napkin felt brittle and crumpled in Sarah's trembling hand. The word "Help" scrawled in a shaky hand was stark against the faded beer stain. But it wasn't just the word that chilled her; it was the almost imperceptible detail beneath, a tiny, practically invisible symbol tucked into the corner. It looked like a stylized letter 'S' but with a sharp, almost barbed point extending from the bottom. Sarah’s heart hammered against her ribs. Was this a signature? A mark from the abductor? Or something else entirely?

She examined the napkin under the harsh light of her apartment’s kitchen, holding it at various angles, searching for any further clues.

The paper was cheap, and they used it for coasters at The Rusty Mug. Nothing else seemed immediately apparent. Yet, the feeling persisted – there was more to this than met the eye. The "S" symbol felt significant, a secret language she didn't understand, a piece of a puzzle she desperately needed to solve.

Sarah’s small apartment in a slightly dodgy part of town reflected her practical, functional life and lacked unnecessary clutter. She wasn't one for decorative knick-knacks or sentimental items. But tonight, the neatness felt oppressive, the silence amplifying the frantic rhythm of her thoughts. The hastily written and partially smudged phone number on the back of the napkin provided another tantalizing piece of the puzzle.

She punched the numbers into her phone, her finger hovering over the call button. What if it was a trap? What if calling would put Cindy in even greater danger? But the alternative was inaction, and the thought of that was unbearable. She’d made a promise, an unspoken pact with a terrified woman whose eyes still burned into her memory. That promise outweighed any fear.

The phone rang three times before going to voicemail. A generic, automated message offered no clues. Frustration gnawed at Sarah.

She needed more. Much more. The napkin offered no other discernible markings. No hidden messages are revealed under UV light, and no secret codes are deciphered through online tools. It

was just a simple word, symbol, and a smudged phone number. The symbol, however, stayed with her, refusing to relinquish its hold on her imagination. It was far from random; it felt purposeful and deliberate.

The following day, Sarah walked into the precinct of her local police department, a building that usually inspired a sense of cold, bureaucratic indifference. Today, however, her anxiety pushed aside any hesitation. The officer, a seasoned veteran with world-weary eyes named Detective Miller, listened to Sarah’s account with a calm, almost bored expression, a look she'd come to recognize as the standard operating procedure for dealing with frantic, emotional witnesses. She detailed the abduction and the frantic plea for help and presented the crumpled napkin as evidence.

Detective Miller examined the napkin, his expression remaining unchanged. “A single word. A smudged phone number. Ma'am, this is hardly conclusive evidence of a kidnapping.” His tone was dismissive, bordering on condescending, a subtle dismissal that Sarah found infuriating.

"But the symbol," she insisted, pointing to the tiny 'S' with its sharp barb. "It means something. It's not random.”

Miller sighed. “Look, ma'am, we get a lot of these calls. People see things and imagine things. Without more substantial evidence…”His voice trailed off, clearly indicating that he didn’t see this case as a priority. She knew she was going to have to do this on her own.

Sarah spent the next few days obsessively revisiting the night's events, replaying them like a broken record. She meticulously reconstructed the sequence, trying to recall every detail, every face.

The bar was crowded, and she was partially focused on her conversation with Lisa, but she remembered bits and pieces: a man in a dark leather jacket, his face partially obscured by the shadows, a distinctive limp in his gait.

He’d been seemingly unassuming near Cindy, yet his presence felt unsettling even then. Sarah’s gut told her it was him. She felt sure of it. But even certainty wasn’t enough in the eyes of the law.

Determined, Sarah decided to retrace her steps. She returned to The Rusty Mug, where the same atmosphere of stale beer and nervous energy enveloped her. She spoke to the bartender, a surly man with a perpetual frown, hoping to glean some information. However, he was unhelpful, his memory hazy, and his interest minimal. She showed him the napkin, but he shrugged, claiming he’d seen hundreds of napkins like it.

Next, she focused on the phone number. She made more calls and searched online to see if they were linked to known identities or addresses. Nothing. Yet, Sarah wouldn't give up. The strange, barbed 'S' symbol continued to haunt her.

She spent hours in the library, poring over books on symbolism, cryptography, and even obscure languages. She considered consulting a graphologist, but that seemed like a desperate long shot. The Internet became her second home, a vast ocean of information that fascinated and frustrated her.

Days bled into nights, and sleep became a luxury she could ill afford. The weight of Cindy’s fate pressed heavily on her shoulders. She felt the pressure mounting, a relentless tide threatening to pull her under. But with each dead end, a new resolve solidified within her. She wouldn't abandon Cindy. Not now. Not ever.

One evening, while researching esoteric symbols online, Sarah stumbled upon a website dedicated to occult societies. There, amidst images of arcane rituals and cryptic symbols, she found an almost identical representation of the barbed 'S' used in the note. It was associated with a secretive organization known as the Serpent's Coil, a group known for its involvement in illicit activities and rumored connections to human trafficking.

Her heart plummeted. Could Cindy's abduction be linked to this shadowy organization? The possibility chilled her to the bone. The cryptic note wasn't just a desperate plea for help; it was a coded message, a hidden signal, and Sarah was slowly starting to decipher its meaning. The "S" wasn't just a letter; it symbolized danger, a signpost pointing to a world she never knew existed.

The information she uncovered linked the Serpent's Coil to several high-profile disappearances over the past decade, cases that had gone cold and mysteries filed in dusty police archives. The pattern was clear. The victims were all young women, and the abductions all occurred in similar circumstances. This organization was far more sophisticated and organized than she’d initially believed.

Armed with this new knowledge, Sarah felt a surge of adrenaline, a newfound determination. She had to tread carefully. The Serpent's Coil was not an enemy to be confronted head-on. She needed a strategy, a plan.

The next step was finding someone who knew about this dangerous cult. Fueled by intense fear and burning determination, her investigation had brought her to the edge of a terrifying abyss. And now, she was about to leap in. The cryptic note, initially a symbol of helplessness, had become her roadmap to salvation, a guide through the treacherous labyrinth of deceit and danger. Cindy's fate, and perhaps the fate of others, now rested on Sarah's shoulders, a burden she was ready to carry.

Initial Investigation Begins

The chipped ceramic mug warmed Sarah’s hands, a meager comfort against the icy dread that clung to her. She stared at the crumpled napkin, the single word "Help" a stark accusation against the comfortable normalcy of the bar scene just hours before. The police, she’d discovered, were less than enthralled with her account.

Officer Miller, a tired-looking man with eyes that suggested he’d seen too much, had listened patiently enough. Still, his tone held a weary skepticism that gnawed at Sarah’s already frayed nerves.

"Ma'am," he'd said, his voice flat, "it's a busy Friday night. Lots of people come and go. You saw a man take a woman. No witnesses and no real description. It's difficult to investigate without more than that."

His words hung in the air, heavy and discouraging. But Sarah knew better. She’d seen the terror in Cindy’s eyes, the desperation etched on her face. This wasn’t just a drunken argument gone wrong but something more sinister. The cryptic symbol on the napkin, a barbed 'S', fueled her resolve. It felt significant, a clue that the police, hampered by their routine procedures, were missing. She couldn't rely on them; she had to find Cindy herself.

Her first stop was the bar. "The Rusty Mug," it was called, a dive bar with sticky floors and a jukebox that played the same five songs on repeat. Sarah was sitting at the same table she'd been sitting with Cindy, replaying the night's events in her mind. The barkeep, a burly man with a handlebar mustache and a name tag that read "Hank," reluctantly agreed to talk. He’d been busy, he explained, but he did recall Cindy – a quiet woman nursing a single drink. He’d seen her talking to a man – a tall, dark-haired man, he’d said, nothing particularly distinctive. That was as much help as he could offer.

The other patrons were equally unhelpful. Most didn't even remember seeing Cindy. The hazy memories of a Friday night crowd blurred together, searching for solid information, a herculean task. Yet, Sarah wouldn't give up. She spoke to anyone who might have seen anything: waitresses, the bouncer, even a group of

college students nursing their beers. She showed them the napkin, hoping someone might recognize the symbol. Nothing.

Days bled into nights, the initial urgency slowly turning into a relentless, gnawing anxiety. Sarah barely slept, fueled by coffee and the unwavering belief that she could find Cindy. She started her investigation, driven by a sense of responsibility she couldn’t quite explain. It felt deeply personal, an obligation transcending the simple act of witnessing a crime. It was more like she’d been handed a burning torch and wouldn't let it go out until she had helped Cindy.