Lights | A Forever Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-One: Golden Crisis

Jo, along with a team of police officers, met us in front of a very nice condo in a very nice neighbourhood. The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, and a great red phoenix reared against the skyline, casting a thousand shades of red and pink across the clouds. Jo and friends were decked out in Kevlar, and had their weapons drawn.

"First up," she said, "Is Elaine Hadynski. She is a high school counsellor for the tenth grade at Westley Academy for the Gifted. Lights, Henry, you guys wait outside." I wanted to cough into my hand or something, but I refrained from taking action. Instead, I followed her and Dr. Morgan up the concrete steps to the door.

"Jo," Dr. Morgan protested. "Please. We didn't come all this way-"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Henry," Jo snapped. "Fine. There's a few spare Kevlar vests in the back of my car." She scowled, tossing Dr. Morgan the keys. I grinned as he marched over to her car and unlocked the trunk.

"Hello? Elaine Hadynski?" Jo called, shimmying around the side and pounding on the door. There was a sharp sound, like glass shattering, and Jo tried the door. It was locked, so she kicked the doorknob fiercely. The door flew inwards, and she rushed inside, flanked by the officers, just as I finished putting my vest on. Dr. Morgan and I hurried after them, trying to stay together and keep up with Jo. Loud exclamations of "Clear!" echoed through the house, and as we raced after Jo, a scream blasted from the room she had just entered.

"Let go of her!" Jo yelled. We sprinted through the doorway, and Jo stood, her pistol levelled at a man's head. The man was the golden-eyed guy who was with Adam on Joy Street. His arms were wrapped around the neck of a young woman with hair like liquid shadows. Panic flashed in her eyes as her lips began to turn blue. She scrabbled against his grip, and Jo shot the man's hand. He howled in pain, releasing the woman, who stumbled forwards and behind Jo. Jo darted forwards, producing a pair of handcuffs. She was about to slap them onto the man, but a sliver of brightness slashed forwards: a knife.

"Jo, look out!" I yelled. She glanced at the knife, but a moment too late. It struck her in the face, and she fell backwards. She raised her gun, pointing at the man's other hand, and fired, but her aim was skewed. The man surged forwards, lashing out. Jo met his knife with her bare hand, struggling with the man, and then, the sound of another gunshot filled the room. Silence fell, and the man fell backwards, gasping for breath, as a crimson flower blossomed in his abdomen. Panic rippled through me, and Jo backed up, using the wall for support, phoning the ambulance.

The woman on the floor sobbed with relief, Dr. Morgan rushed forwards to check on Jo, and I squatted by the woman on the floor.

"It's okay," I murmured. "You're okay, now." I looked up at Dr. Morgan and Jo. "Right?" Jo nodded, her breaths becoming more steady and less uneven. Dr. Morgan produced a small box and opened it, taking out a thin roll of gauze and scissors. He snipped off two pieces of gauze, pressing one against Jo's cheek.

"Hold this in place," he instructed her. She complied silently, returning her gun to its holster and pressing the white cotton to her cheek as pale redness spread across it. Dr. Morgan wrapped a bandage around her hand gently. In the distance, sirens wailed, and other police officers came in, staring in surprise at the disturbance. They led the woman away, sitting her down and asking her questions quietly. Finally, paramedics rushed in, carrying a stretcher and lifting the man onto it.

"Henry, you and Lights should go with them," Jo sighed. "We need the other officers."

"Why?" Dr. Morgan and I demanded in unison.

"Because the team Hanson led needs backup. Now go!" Jo ushered us after the paramedics, and into the back of an ambulance. Dr. Morgan sat down across from a paramedic, and I sat next to him. The man groaned and moaned, struggling against the straps tying him to the stretcher. Jo slammed the doors shut behind us, and as we started to be driven away, panic invaded Dr. Morgan's eyes.

"No, Jo!" he yelled. "No, you can't go back-!"

"Why? What's she doing?" I demanded.

"With those injuries, she can't hold her weapon in the Isosceles or Weaver stances; at least, not well. The best she'll be able to do is a Bullseye, which is hard to aim with, and the recoil is unbearable," Dr. Morgan explained rapidly.

"That's not good," I decided.

"No," Dr. Morgan agreed morosely. "That isn't good at all."
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