Don’t Leave Me Hangin’ is a collection of short stories in a variety of genres, but this will give you an example of the structure of the collection. It was designed for teachers to use on Free Write Fridays so students can read the story and decide how it ends. It’s also a great resource for homeschoolers or simply friends wanting to have fun discussions. Enjoy!

The Phone Call

By:  Amy Brailey

Wednesday, March 2, 2025

It started off just like any other day.  I was running late for work—an unfortunate habit I have.  I had stopped at the cross walk, waiting in the sea of humanity looking for a break in traffic through which they could sprint to their jobs in one of the many skyscrapers that made up the Chicago skyline.  Normally, people in these situations don’t make eye contact.  They check their watches, sigh, glare at the traffic, rearrange their briefcases, etc.  But, they don’t look.  And they really don’t talk. 

            That’s why what happened was so strange.  “Can I borrow your cell phone?” she asked.

            I looked up from my watch to see a twenty-something lady in a smart business suit.  “What? You mean now?”

            She looked pointedly at the speeding cars and back at me.  “Please.”

            It was the please that got me.  “Fine.  Just hurry.  I’m late as it is.”

            She took the phone and walked a few paces away.  I now watched the traffic with a hammering heart.  It’s weird how much a cell phone becomes a part of who you are.  You feel almost a withdrawal without it.  But, seconds later, she handed it back.

            “I’m sorry,” she said.  I thought she was apologizing for needing my phone a9nd had just looked back to tell her it was fine when I noticed her eyes.  They were red and starting to get puffy.  “I’m so sorry,” she said, and darted out into traffic. 

            There’s no telling how long I would have stood there had not the man behind me jostled my shoulder in an attempt to catch the brief window of time the neon green walking man was still on the sign.  I came to my senses and rushed across the street, glancing around me for the woman in the suit.  She was nowhere to be seen.

            I made it to my engineering office—late, as usual—and took the elevator to the fourth floor, mind reeling.  “Morning, Julia,” I said, automatically greeting my secretary.

            “Morning, Mr. Thomas.  I see the train was running late again.” she replied, grinning. “The Astoria Tower plans are on your desk.  Mr. FitzGerald says they take top priority this morning.”

            “Thanks, Julia,” I smiled, “You’re the best!”

            “If only my paycheck reflected it,” she sighed, swiveling back to face her computer. 

            I shut the door of my office and leaned against it, sliding my cell phone from my pocket.  The Astoria Tower was just the excuse I needed.  Julia would hold all my calls, and I could figure out what had just happened.

            I tapped “Recent” on my phone menu and stared.  There were no new calls.  Yet though my eyes were on traffic, I clearly remembered the woman talking animatedly as she paced near me.  The last call was mine to Terracon.  Wait, not mine.  The time was wrong.  “Now, why would you be calling my office, lady?”  I thought. 

            A knock broke my concentration, vibrating my back as I leaned against the door.  Strange.  Julia usually filtered out interruptions.  Turning, I swung the door open to reveal a face I didn’t recognize.  A squat looking, nervous man stood before me, hat in hand.

            “Mr. Thomas?”  he asked.

            “That’s me.  May I help you?”

            “I think you must,” he responded.  My eyes travelled down to his hands, where a Kahr P380 rested comfortably, carefully shielded from camera view by the hat he held, just tipped so I could see.

            My heart hammered in my chest, as I stepped aside, gesturing inside my office, where, I was all too aware, there were no cameras.  “By all means, then.”

            He took a few steps into the office and waited for me to shut the door.  I thought about shutting him inside and calling security, but the locks were on the inside, and I was sure he had at least 6 rounds to do some damage before help would arrive.  Instead, I mentally surveyed my office and my own skill set, trying to develop a plan—preferably one in which the whole office, including myself, stayed alive.  Fear has a way of driving such strategies out of one’s mind, however.

            I moved behind my desk, thinking at least this barrier would be helpful.  The man watched me go, gun still pointed, but carefully concealed from the windows.  He waited until I was seated and moved to the chair opposite mine.

            “So, what would you like from me?”  I asked warily.     

            “I’d like you to lead us to the next target.”

            “What?”

            “The next target.  Unless, of course, you want the trail to die here.  And when I say ‘die,’ I do mean quite literally.”

            I stared at him open mouthed, then surveyed the corners for out of place objects.  There had to be a camera here.  “Are you serious?”

            He followed my gaze then smiled a measured smile.  “Most serious, Mr. Thomas.  I would have thought that would be obvious, given—” he inclined his head towards his hat.

            “Then, give me some details.  What trail?  What target?  What are you even talking about?”

            He sighed deeply, looked at his watch, punched a few miniscule buttons, and waited.  After a few agonizing seconds, he seemed to reach a decision.  “Did anything strange happen to you today?”

            The question caught me off guard.  “What?”

            “Strange.  Out of the ordinary.  Something you wouldn’t expect.”  He surveyed me with keen interest as my eyes widened.

            “That woman.  With the cell phone.  Is she with you?”

            He laughed, inclining his head again.  “In a manner of speaking.  She also was just a link in the chain.  But, she brought us to you.”

            “And what can I do?”  Sweat was beginning to run in rivulets down my side.

            To my surprise, he got up and began to pace, hat still clutched tightly in his hand.  “Have you ever heard of the game “Bigger or better?” he asked, stopping to look me in the eyes.

            “Sure.  I think we played it at youth group.  Everyone starts off with a small item and goes out in the neighborhood asking random strangers if they have anything bigger or better to trade. The game continues for a certain amount of time.  When you meet back up, whoever has the biggest or best item wins.”  I laugh, in spite of myself.  “I think I traded for a couch once.”   

            He smiled indulgently.  “That’s the one.”

            “I’m still lost.” 

            “Well, we are looking for the biggest or best plan of attack.  Right now, you’re it.”

            “Me?  I’m an engineer.”  I laughed.  “This has to be a joke.”

            He’s no longer smiling.  “Exactly.  An engineer. At one of the largest construction companies around.  In a major metropolis.  You have offices in how many states exactly?” I felt the blood drain from my face, but he continues.  “Not to mention projects around the world:  bridges, towers,” he glanced at my desk, “Condominiums.  Any idea what kind of chaos a bit of malfunctioning steel could cause?  She definitely made a good choice selecting you.”

            “But, that woman was a stranger.  I’d never seen her before in my life.  How could she know what I do?” My mind was reeling. 

            He pointed at the jacket I hadn’t gotten around to removing.  “Gives a whole new meaning to Terracon, doesn’t it?”

            I sank back in my chair.  “This can’t be happening.”

            “So,” he let the word hang in the air, looking at me.

            “So, what?” I asked, not in the sarcastic way I normally would have said it.

            “So, are you going to help us, or take us to someone better?  The choice is yours.  But don’t answer just yet.  Take some time to think about it.  You have until Friday to act.  Otherwise, you help, or the trail dies, if you catch my drift.”

            I did.  All too well.  Betray my country, help out potential terrorists, or throw someone else to these sharks.  These were my options—unless, of course, I wanted to die. 

            “Oh, and don’t bother going to the cops.  Remember how the game works.  I’m not the only team playing.  A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thomas.”  And with that, he turned and strode out of the office, letting the door close behind him.

Friday, March 4, 2025

Sloan locked his car over his shoulder and walked determinedly towards the shuttle.  He glanced at his watch to confirm he was, indeed, the customary three hours early required for an international flight.  Today was an important day.  He set his briefcase on the seat next to him to discourage any conversation.  The shuttle had just taken off when a man approached him.  He looked like one of those big wig office workers in his suit and tie and company jacket.  Sloan looked out the window, but the man kept coming.

            “Excuse me, sir.” Sloan looked up.  “May I borrow your phone?”

Where is Sloan going? 

Tell what happens when he arrives.