Author's note: Don't ask me why inspiration just unexpectedly got to me at an unpredicted place and time, but it did, and here's the result.
I wrote this story for the Writers Anonymous POV challenge, where the narrating character must be quite a sidelined character in the story.
So, here I decided to put Deacon in a corner, witnessing at the whole scene.
Addictions: you can be addicted to a whole bunch of things. People included.
This is when you cross the line of commitment and get used to sacrifice yourself for a person who doesn't deserve it. This is where this person pushes you, making you reach your limits, and then just leaves you void.
Deacon's POV
It's early in the morning, and the sun is only starting to warm the earth up. I can't see a single cloud at the horizon, and the dry air already lets predict it will be a hot day.
We approach the crumbling building, all geared up. The crackling wooden door is unlocked. We don't even need to smash it open this time.
That's too bad! I would use some kicking doors today.
I look back at my team. Chris is at my six, Street right behind her, eyes fixed on the target. At our left Hondo, Luca and Tan, guns in their hands, ready for the action.
Hondo nods; we have the green light.
Let's roll!
Luca slightly pushes the rotten wood, and the thing cracks open.
I penetrate, gun pointed, secured by the strong presence of the rest of my team following my lead.
The broad daylight hardly works its way in from the broken windows, clumsily sealed with ruined planks of wood. The smell of mildew steams into the air, and I can hear drips of moist splashing on the ground.
As soon my eyes get used to the semi-darkness, I can see the dilapidated corridors opening in front of me.
"Right side clear," I let my team know.
"Left side clear," Luca says immediately after.
We proceed in our search, meticulously going from room to room, graffiti on the walls and trash in every corner.
The squeaking sound of my teammates' footsteps makes me feel their presence even more.
No chance the men did not hear us coming.
Then I feel something crackling under my foot; I look down and see broken glass sticking in my boot's sole. I stepped on a used needle.
Nope; I'm not touching that.
There is a strange silence echoing in the air. But the drug dealers are here. I know they are. And we have to find them.
I advance; breathing this air makes me sick. This place is just gross.
Come on, let's find them and get out of here. I can't stand it anymore.
Hondo takes the lead and splits the team. He takes Luca and Chris with him, directing upstairs. The creaking of the old, battered stair makes me feel the chills down my spine.
Is this place haunted?
But, I can't stop.
I'm naturally in charge of my group. I see Street and Tan ready to follow my leads, and we go on searching the ground floor while Hondo disappears from my sight.
We get separated.
"Clear!" I hear Tan yelling from the next room.
"Clear!" Street's voice echoes.
I get in the main room, and a pungent smell of vomit and urine immediately comes to my nose, suffocating me.
No; no ghosts here, just dealers and junkies. Overdosing junkies.
Four figures appear in front of me. On a small couch to my left, there are two middle-aged people, but what immediately caught my attention are two young males down on the trashed floor in the corner of the room.
I pass the adults; the man blinks, his cold eyes lost and his pupils dilated. I see his head tilt, but he is unable to move any other muscle. The dark-haired woman sat beside him has a mole by her left eye that distracts me for a split second. When I regain my focus, I notice she is unconscious and barely breathing. But I can't stop to check on them; I need to reach the younger figures.
Suddenly, I hear commotion above my head. The crackling ceiling causes the dust to spread about the air and years worn plaster raining down on my hair. The acrid smell of age and vomit becoming more noticeable causes me to hold my breath.
"Metro SWAT!" I can hear my teammates' voices coming to my hears in the distance. "Put the gun down!"
Then a loud thud makes me jump.
I sharpen my ears; my eyes up to the ceiling, protected from the rain of dust and debris by the precious eye protection.
I freeze, waiting for a sign.
"First floor clear." I sigh as soon as Hondo's voice reaches me, my muscles finally relaxing.
Threat secured.
Now I can go back to check on these young junkies. So, I duck to feel their pulse as they seem totally out.
One of them is. He is done for good.
What a waste; such a young life ending like this. My throat clenches.
The other kid -because he wasn't much more than just a kid- was still breathing; he was just in the dreamland, living whatever acid trip he was going through.
I can't believe they can come to this. I shake my head, praying for their souls.
"Mom!" Street's gasping voice brings me back to reality.
What did he say?
Mom?
I turn back to him; he just got in the room and stood frozen by the door in a pool of cold sweat.
Then I see him rush to the woman on the couch. I watch him, jaw dropped, as he tries to take his helmet off. He growls as his hands are shaking so badly that he has problems unlashing the chin strap.
I hear the heavy sound of the piece of gear dropping on the floor while he gently starts slapping his mother in the face.
"Mom? Mom, it's me; come on, open your eyes," Street whispers in her ear. "Look at me, please; look at me."
But she doesn't obey; she doesn't react.
I watch powerlessly as he senses her pulse. Doing that, he closes his eyes for a moment, holding his breath, and I find myself holding mine.
"It's weak, but it's still there," he says, his voice barely coming out. "Come on, mom, get up. Come on!" he begs, trying to bring her on her feet.
This time she moans and blinks a few times, then she lets her son force her up.
At that moment Tan sneaks his head into the room, finding that scene before him. His shocked look meets mine, and I know exactly what he's thinking.
This is unfair.
I hear Mrs. Street whine and gasp, while abandoning her dead weight on her son, who can barely sustain her.
I can see Street shivering, and his eyes looking frantically around, seeking for help.
My help.
"Come on, mom, you can't do this to me!" I can feel Street's voice crackling. "Don't do this to me!"
My heart skips a beat every time he opens his mouth. I can feel his pain penetrating deep in my soul.
No son should see his mother like that.
My children will never have to. This is a promise.
I see Street accompany his mother's body on the floor, and kneel by.
I can sense he is not breathing.
As Mrs. Street's body touches the foil of grime and dust, I can't help but think that I would never let someone I care about lay there.
But Street has no choice. I can see it. His mother is about to drift away from his grip.
"No, no, no, please, no!" Street's voice comes out every time more acute.
"Tan, go get the Narcan," I order him. Nowadays every cop has to bring that substance with them, and we surely have some of it in Black Betty.
I see him running out of the room and quickly disappearing from my sight. When I look back down at Street, I can't tell who is paler between him and his mother.
I want to help him, and I think of approaching them, but I can't. I feel like I can't abandon the poor kid laying at my feet all alone. So I don't move from my corner.
Even from here I can see Street's mother's lips turning blue. Street is on his knees, one hand on the floor, the other on his mom's cold chest. He approaches his ear to her mouth and then turns to me.
I see his eyes going off, and panic rising in him.
She stopped breathing.
"Where the hell is the Narcan?" Street yells, starting compressions.
I can see his muscles getting all tensed even under the heavy gears he is wearing.
With the corner of my eye I see Hondo appearing at the door. I turn to see his dark eyes widening while watching the scene. He must recognize her.
"What the..." His look poses on me, and I'm not able to force my voice out.
But I feel I can read his mind. There she is, messing with Street again. He is thinking that.
But this time the feels that it's not gonna end well is stronger than ever.
My eyes go back to Street; he is sweating, panting and he's all rigid in his pose. He holds compressions, puts his left hand on his mother's nose, the right one on her chin and approaches his mouth to hers.
I watch him trying to force his life into her. His face growing red for the extreme effort, and every single muscle he has in his body contracting.
Hondo finally walks in the room and puts his hand on Street's shoulder.
"Let me do this," he says, kneeling by, with his eyes peering in Street's.
"No! I got this! I got her!" Street shakes Hondo's hand from him and keeps frantically pushing on his mother's chest.
My stomach turns, and not just for the suffocating smell that permeates every single inch of this crowded room.
No son has to go through this. Not mine and not anyone's else.
Chris' loud gasp entering the room takes me back. I have no idea what she must be thinking, seeing her best friend going through that.
If it's hard for me, it must be devastating for her. And let's not talk about how heart-wrenching all this is for Street himself.
I cross my look with Chris; it hurts my soul.
Suddenly, Tan comes running with the needle in his hand. He gives the thing to Hondo who promptly injects the medication directly into Mrs. Street's vein.
Nothing happens.
I witness, speechless, Street's lost eyes staring at his mother's motionless body, eagerly waiting for a sign of life.
He hesitates for a single endless moment, then goes back to put all his strength in compressing her chest.
This is different. I'm a cop; if something happens to me would be because I tried to do something good. Something selfless.
What she was trying to do here was nothing good. That was nothing but selfish.
"Where are the subjects?" Hondo's question to Chris makes once again my thoughts fade into the oblivion.
I look down to him, then up to her. She just stands there, lips pursed, staring at mother and son.
"Chris! Where are the subjects?" Hondo raises his voice, making her startle.
"Luca." She shakes her head. "Luca is babysitting them."
Hondo nods then turns once again to Street. "Okay, kid. Step back now; you're exhausted. You're doing no good to her acting like this," he says in a calm tone.
How can he always be so calm?
I see Street reluctantly leaving his place to Hondo, who immediately resumes the compressions. But Street can't just step back; he stays on his knees, right beside his mother.
How can she keep doing this to him? To her son?
As a father, I don't understand.
Abruptly, a loud gasp escapes from Mrs. Street's mouth, and her dark eyes pop wide open.
"It's okay, mom. I'm here now." Street immediately takes her hand in his, and I can almost hear the sound of his heart beating again.
Wow. That's the only word crossing my mind.
I'm speechless because of what I just witnessed.
I'm speechless seeing a glare appearing on Mrs. Street's white face as soon as she comes back to reality.
There is no gratitude in her look. There is no relief in her eyes; not for being alive and not for her son's presence, and I can tell she feels no joy in perceiving his touch on her sweated skin.
I see disgust there, and I see rage and violence.
I can see a glimpse of shame, maybe, but I feel regret is another thing.
But what makes my heart clench is Street's void look acknowledging all that.
With the corner of my eye I see Tan leading the paramedics in. There are four of them; it means two busses are out there waiting.
When one of the first responders gets to my position to take care of the dosed kid, I leave him my place.
Finally, I can approach Street. I can give him my support.
I watch Chris thoughtfully dragging him away while the medics put his mother on the stretcher. I can't see his face now, but I can still picture his sorrow.
Four stretchers are brought out from the building. On one of them, there is a young corpse.
My feeling is that's not all.
We follow them out. As the warm but clean air penetrates my nostrils, softly caressing my dusty skin, I take a deep breath. And I can hear my teammates do the same, all but Street. He is still holding his breath for the paramedic just said to him his mother is not yet out of the woods.
Luca runs to us. He must have given the subject's custody to the patrol officers got on the scene.
He watches us closely, his lips pursed, silently asking what the hell was happening.
I glance on Street's pale face, then down to his trembling hands closed into fists. I watch Luca's eyes dropping on him, then on the ambulance, then again to our teammate's off look.
Chris puts a hand on Street's shoulder while he witnesses his mother's stretcher being loaded on the bus. The doors soundly close, leaving him out.
There was no room for him in there. He will have to reach her at the hospital later.
We all hear the sirens' loud and acute noise echoing in the air while the vehicles disappears from our sight.
"Come on; let's go." Hondo's orders drive my attention to him. "We'll leave you to the hospital on the way back," he says, looking toward Street.
Street's eyes are still fixed on the horizon. His lips are locked, his shoulders slumped and his arms crossed tight in a self-induced hug. Despite that, I can see his chest expanding to welcome in a deep breath.
"There's no need," he states, looking down at his feet.
His bitter tone makes me freeze.
He looks back at us, then opens his mouth again. "I'm on duty; I'll go there at the end of the shift."
I can see the whole team blown away by those words. Street's dead look makes us all shiver. At least, that's what it does to me.
My heart breaks for him.
Catering his mother, he held on for 30 years, and now he just broke.