The Boy [mxb]

10

The night is soot black. Every woman's nightmare has materialized for one female victim. In the dead of night, her crazy stalker ex broke into her house and attempted to force himself on her. She was woken up at gunpoint. Luckily, the frantic woman was able to tap Emergency on her phone and give the dispatcher enough information before she cut out, her phone presumably wrenched from her hands and confiscated.

We jumped on the call immediately, a whirl of blue lights and grim faces.

The seconds fly by. Tick. Tock. My cruiser wheels fly against the asphalt. Tick. Tock. The cars fly by, a rush of colours through the windshield. Tick. Tock...

My pulse drums steadily in my chest. I can only imagine the tortured sound of her voice as she pleaded with dispatch, the fear she must be feeling. If she's still feeling. A fifty-one-fifty suspect is capable of anything.

Tick. Tock.

I wish I could teleport. What she's experiencing right now has got to be horror movie type shit. Depending on just how psycho this guy is, I need to brace myself for the worst. Grime, blood, gore. Maybe a dead body. Maybe two.

We fly out of our cruisers into the still night at lightening speed, feet pounding against the cement. There's a chilled bite to the crisp winter air that lashes my face. The shrieking cacophony of sirens pierce the veil of dark silence.

Shouts ring strident in the night. Some officers evacuate the adjoined houses while the rest rush to the RP's door. The ram is passed forward.

"Police, come out with your hands up!" I below at the top of my lungs, pounding on the door. "Police, come out with your hands up!"

"Come out with your hands up!"

"Police!"

Tick tock...

In this moment, I pray that the sound of sirens and the announcement of our presence is a sufficient deterrent to prevent whatever the deranged ex had planned for the victim, until we make entry.

"NYPD, come out with your hands up!"

Bang. The ram breaks down the door, the sound drowned out by the pounding of my heart. Our flashlight beams pan through the darkness.

Tick tock...

A man who I presume is our suspect comes into view, emerging from one of the rooms. We crowd the front doorframe, guns trained forward, shield up.

"Hands up!"

"-Right now!"

He scrambles, bewildered. I notice blood on his hands.

"Come on, let's go! Get down on the ground!"

Incoherent yelling from the man. He makes a move, but not to comply.

"No no no, hands up!"

"Right now!"

The faint sound of sobbing gives me hope. She's alive.

"Get down!"

We crush against the doorframe, assessing the scene, poised to enter if the man doesn't comply and come out to us. Our shouts are an uproar in the otherwise quiet night air. 

"Crawl to me right now! Crawl to me right now! Crawl to me right now!"

A young woman, bruised and battered, emerges on hands and knees, her hair awry and her face streaked with blood and tears. She's sobbing.