Forgive and Remember

Ah. It's good to be back! I've missed you guys! But, not as much as I've missed… MY FLUTE! It was so awesome having my flute back! I have been playing it so much! Anyways, Flashpoint has been my new addiction. So, I hope you guys enjoy it! Love you, guys!

Disclaimer: If I owned Flashpoint, Sam would be my age or vice versa and we would be married. :)

Shaylee's POV

It was dark. Yelling could be heard from the living room. I can't believe I let them come over for a whole week.What's wrong with me? Why can't I just refuse? Ugh, Nat was right. I am too nice. Well, I can't say I get it from mom. Or dad.

"Well, why can't you just get a job?" Mom yelled over the television.

"Because I have a job. I make sure Shaylee does what she needs to do." Dad said, his words slurred.

"Yelling at me to make you a sandwich is not a job," I mumbled, then winced at my own words. That was pretty harsh. Well, you might not think so! Who am I talking to? I sighed, and pulled the covers tighter around me. Their shouting, if possible, got louder. Suddenly, I ripped off my covers, and marched into the living room.

"That's enough!" I said, just loud enough to be heard. Slightly. Sighing, I muted the T.V. "You guys need to go to bed! I have to go to my babysitting job at 5 in the morning, and it's like, three." I said, running a hand through my hair.

"I'm sorry. We're going to bed right now." Mom said, and turned off the television.

"Thanks." I said, and went back to bed.

The next morning…

I woke up to the sounds of sirens and extreme pain in my arm. I sat up. I peeked out the window, squinting against the bright light. The driveway was swarmed with police officers. I frowned. What did he do this time? I walked to the door, forgetting that I had gotten dressed before going to bed. I opened up the door, and poked my head out the door. Nope. I wasn't dreaming. Even SWAT was here. Well, there goes my babysitting job. The blonde SWAT guy turned and saw me just as I closed the door. I stormed up to my dad. I wandered around the house. Finally, I went back to my room. He was there… covered in blood. My mother's blood. I screamed, and put my hand over my mouth.

I winced and looked down, and gasped. My dad had shot me!

"What did you do?" I shrieked. He laughed drunkenly and said, "Nothing you wouldn't have done." His words slurred.

"I wouldn't have killed my mother." I said bitterly. I looked down and screamed again. I was covered in my mother's blood. I would've fainted if I hadn't been so mad.

"What did you do? She didn't do anything to you!" I hollered, surprising myself with the force and volume of my voice.

"I shot her," He growled. "Isn't that obvious?"

"It's obvious that you're mental!" I shouted.

"Now listen here," He snarled. "I did what was right—"

"Yes," I shot back, "for you!" A megaphone amplified someone's voice outside.

"Jack White, this is Greg Parker from the SRU. Come out with your hands up and without the gun." (Does he say that? I haven't watched Flashpoint in a while.)

"I ain't gonna come out!" He shouted back, his words slightly slurred. Dad paced around the gun clenched so tightly in his hand, his knuckles were ghost white. I was scared out of mind. He had a gun, and he also had a temper. A very short temper. It took what little courage I had not to freak out. I waited a while. He kept pacing. Abruptly, the phone rang, and surprised, I flinched.

"You! Get the phone!" He hollered at me, pointing the gun right at me forehead. I scrambled up and shakily took the phone.

"H-h-hello?" I asked, shaking.

"This is Sam Braddock. Is there anything your dad wants?" Sam's voice was kind and understanding, but had a hint of something I couldn't put my finger on.

"I-I-I don't think so. I think his temper got the best of him."

"What'd you say?" Jack (I can't call him my dad. You understand that, right? Who am I talking to?) Shouted at me, and the gun was pointed at me, and I flinched. His words were crystal clear and cut through me like a knife.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything." I stammered out, trying so hard not to cry. He murmured something and went back to pacing.

"Is there any way you can get out of there?" Sam asked.

"I-I-I don't know." My voice cracked and I started crying. Jack smiled a cruel smile that chilled my blood.

"Could you try?"

"I-I-I think so." I said. I hung up. While he was pacing, I slowly backed up and went to the back door. He turned and caught sight of me. He stopped, and I turned and ran. I ran to the front lawn, and I could hear his heavy footfalls, trying not to fall over as he ran after me. I ran into someone and I absolutely freaked out. Two strong hands reached out and grabbed my arms, stopping me from hitting someone.

"Shaylee, I need you to calm down." It was Sam. I could tell by his voice. I looked up, and he was the blonde guy I saw when I opened the door. I tried, but I heard him getting closer.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone," I cried, collapsing to the ground, sobbing. I tried to take even breaths, but they out ragged and shallow and shaky. A boot appeared, I swallowed slightly, and a knee appeared. Then a face. As my vision was blurry from the tears, I could only see her brown ponytail and tell that she was kind of pale.

"I'm Jules. Come on, we've got to get you cleaned up," She said. She helped me up and I winced slightly. She led me to a truck. I stopped sobbing, but I was still crying.

There was a man at the computer screen.

"Spike, when are the ambulances getting here?" Jules asked.

"In a few minutes." Spike replied.

"Okay." Jules said. I sniffled.

"I could just go back." I said shakily. Jules looked at me curiously.

"No, you don't have to go back," Jules said.

"No. I don't want to be a burden." I said, sniffling again.

"Nah, you're not a burden." Spike said, and then added, "The ambulances are here." Jules led me out, and steered clear of my injured arm. I sat in the back of the ambulance as the medics tried to take the bullet from my arm. Key word: tried. I kept squirming and screaming. It really hurt. Next time, they should just do there selves (spell check) a favor and knock me out. Sam eventually came over.

"Shaylee, you need to calm down." He said, and sat down next to me. He told me to hold his wrist and squeeze if it hurt. So I did, and I wondered if his circulation was cut off. It would be a wonder if it didn't. Don't judge me! And, again, who am I talking to? When they were done, they bandaged my forearm. I let go of Sam's wrist.

"Sorry if you're circulation was cut off." I said with a small, watery smile.

He returned the smile. Except it wasn't watery.

"No problem." He said. He walked away, and I wondered what I would do with the house. I mean, my bedroom is a crime scene! I stood there as the ambulances went away. I looked at my house. I went inside. The police had long since removed the body. Why should I worry? Everything's done and done, right? I sighed and ran my hands through my hair.

"Could this day possibly get any worse?" I said aloud. An arm suddenly was wrapped around my waist.

"Well, it could. But you better listen, Shay." A man said. I screamed, but it was abruptly cut off by his hand. He pulled me closer until my back was pressed against his chest.

"No, no, no. Shay, you can't do that. That would be a bad Shaylee, wouldn't it?" He whispered in my ear, and I shivered.

"I don't know you!" I said, but it came out muffled by his hand.

"Just follow me and you won't die." For such a solemn sentence he said it a bit too brightly for my taste.