𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞; 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

TW: case talk (death, gore, weapons)

I sat in the back seat of the SUV, Emily in the front, Derek driving, travelling up to Andrew Walford's house, hoping that we had enough time to save him. The phone in the centre of the console began to ring, Emily answering it and putting it on speakerphone.

"Prentiss." She greeted seriously.

"The Queen of the cyberworld here, I just intercepted a 911 phone call from Bruce Ray's neighbour saying that they heard a gunshot from his house. The others are already at Andrew's house, do you want me to send you Bruce's address?" Penelope questioned without taking a breath.

"That'd be great baby girl." Derek responded, "send us the fastest route."

~

There is nothing more exhilarating than putting on your bullet proof vest for the first time, bringing your gun out and sneaking around the home of a potential victim.

Exhilarating might actually be the wrong word though. I think shitting my pants is more appropriate.

I follow Derek and Emily across the deck and to the front of the house, moving quickly and quietly, weaving through the rows of potted plants and weeds. Derek reached the front door, standing to one side, with Emily and I on the other.

He looked to us, gesturing to the door as he mouthed a countdown, "3...2...1-"

Derek's foot kicked the centre of the door, causing it to immediately cripple down beneath us as we swarmed the front room of the house.

I kept my wits with me, surveying every nook and cranny as I moved discretely through the house, hearing the distant footsteps of the other two. I reached a corridor, feeling the presence of Emily behind me as we walked down the narrow space, coming across a slightly ajar door at the end.

I looked over to Emily, who nodded at me, before opening the door fully, holding my gun out at arm's length.

I noticed the smell first, a fowl scent of blood and flesh. My eyes traced the outline of the pile of blood which spilt across the floor; my gaze followed the splatter, reaching a body. Swallowing, I let my eyes trail across it, slumped in the corner of a room, the lifeless remains of a body- a person, a man- Bruce Ray. His eyes were glazed over, but the sadness swelling in the remaining pupils was still evident. A gun laid on the floor next to him.

I lowered my own gun, walking up to the body, seeing a picture frame lying next to one of his arms. I closed my eyes when I saw the picture was of him and his wife Michelle. Their faces so happy, so unassuming, so normal.

I peeled my eyes away, finally taking in the room, "Emily, look."

She holstered her gun as we looked around, and I could have shed tears over what I saw. We stood in a nursery, a beautiful nursery, adorned with toys and hand-drawn pictures, blankets, and teddies. I walked to a white dresser which sat in the corner, picking up a photo frame, seeing a family picture of Bruce and Michelle, but with them, was a small baby- only a few weeks old. The baby was hooked to machines, tubes, wires, it looked sick.