The Dirty White Van

While I was driving out of town, I knew with absolute certainty that the missing child was in the dirty white van in front of me.

I had never been more certain of anything.

It was the child’s handprint pressed into the dirt on the back door that decided it.

The missing child had left a sign, and I had found it – alongside a pair of tits, a penis and CLEAN ME.

I followed the van until it stopped and a bloke got out – a classic white van man, who I vaguely recognised.

I ran at him, yelling, “Open the van. Open the bloody van.”

And he did open the van, showing me his tools and some timber.

It turned out that I had never been more wrong.

Even though I phoned the police back, they couldn’t be stood down, arriving on the scene a moment later.

In the rearview mirror, I watched them manhandling the man as I drove away.

And then I realised that I recognised him because we used to go to the same school.

vss #17

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