I just recently got hooked on Flashpoint and have been obsessing over it ever since. This is just a thought that popped into my mind when watching the show (which obviously isn't mine, yadiyadiyah). My take on what happens if a civilian is suddenly forced to do what should be the job of the SRU. If you have an opinion, share it! I'll even appreciate hate mail.
"She's been to Congo, Niger. Myanmar. Not the nicest places in the world. She's used to working under pressure, so let's try drawing her into the negotiation. She's very important to him but if she says one wrong thing to set him off, she's dead."
"Boss, there's no way of contacting her without him noticing."
She can see them from the corners of her eyes. The blue and red lights flash into her already blurred vision and she's trying to think straight but that's harder than you think when someone's pointing a gun to your head, its cold barrel pressing into the side of your skull. She feels his hand shaking and the thing she's most scared off is that he'll just release it by accident, with a jerk of his hand.
The cops are about 30 yards away but she knows that they can't help her. He's too agitated to listen to anyone but the voices in his head.
She closes her eyes for a second. She's got to try talking to him. If she wants to get out of this alive she needs to save herself. Problem is she doesn't know if she wants to get out of it alive. Images of the shootout force themselves into her brain and though she tries to shut them out she can't help but catch a glimpse of her husband falling to the ground while his blood is dripping from her left side, where he'd been standing holding on to her.
She's seen people die before. She's even seen people being shot in front of her before. This, however, had been different. So different.
But she needs herself to stop thinking about that. What she needs to start thinking about is the man behind her with a gun in his hand, pressing his body against hers and she even thinks she can feel a bulge in his pants from his erection. She shudders with disgust. There has to be a way out of this. What does he want?
Her. He wants her. He's been wanting her since the damned night they met, when she had stitched up his damaged forearm that was cut deeply by a broken bottle and told him to go home and sleep the booze out of his system. She had recognized the dazed gaze of someone unable to control his emotions, whether due to substance abuse or lack of empathy she couldn't tell. Probably a mixture of both. She had sighed because it had been a long shift and she didn't have the energy for this so she had asked Lauren, the nurse on duty, to kick him out of the ER.
And then, when she unlocked the door to their home, he was there on the other side of the street, watching her. He must have waited for her in front of the hospital and then followed her in his car. Annoyed she had turned around and walked towards him but he had bailed before she could get to him. She had sworn to herself that next time she'd see him she'd call the cops.
He was there the next afternoon following her into the grocery store. Her fiancé had told her she should try warning the psycho about going to the cops and she'd agreed. Everybody deserves a fair warning. Well he didn't listen to the warning – not that she had expected him to – and so she called the police that Tuesday after spotting him loitering around in front of their home. The police came while Jamal was working but the stalker had already taken off and all she could do was give them a description. The name he'd given at the hospital was fake and the police said that until he did something illegal, their hands were bound. But she should call them as soon as something out of the ordinary happened.
And then he suddenly stopped. For two years she didn't see his face anywhere. Jamal and her got married and – with the fresh love that newlywed share with each other – shooed the memories of him out of their house.
When she saw him again it was too late to call the cops. He was already inside their home holding them at gunpoint. He yelled and smiled at the same time and next thing she knew she was bound and gagged and the love of her life was dead.
And now she's here at the dock – heaven only knows what they are doing here, maybe he has a boat – not gagged anymore but furious, scared for her life and above all trying not to think about Jamal.
"Alright people, we want everyone to get out of here safely. Let's make this happen."
"Working on it, boss. Wordy, let's get some ears, I'd like to hear what he's saying to her."
"On it, boss."
"Spike, what can you tell me about the subject?"
"Terry Callaghan. Only child, father out of the picture, mother died from overdose when he was in his early twenties. Dropped out of school, has been in and out of jail for petty things until two years ago when he went to prison for showing his privates in the middle of a mall. Got out yesterday. Cell mate filed a complaint against him, said he was a wacko, talking to himself all the time and obsessing about what seems to be our victim, Dr. Emma Malone. Drew pictures of her naked and showed his cell mate photographs that he'd taken while he'd been stalking her.
"Alright. Terry thinks he loves Emma, he doesn't want to hurt her, but if he feels like there is no way out, he's going to take her with him. What do we know about the victim?"
"Emma Malone MD. Working for the ICRC as a specialist for emergency surgeries. Father American, mother Swiss, both died in a car accident when she was 19. Two older sisters. Came back from a mission in Kenya two months ago and is supposed to be leaving for Afghanistan next week. Straight A student, no criminal record, not even a speeding ticket, well liked by her bosses. Two years ago she reported someone stalking her and then suddenly stopping when Terry went to prison, description and timeline match."
"Okay so she's smart and accustomed to dangerous situations. I would still like to be able to contact her without him knowing. Is there any way?"
"Boss?"
"Yeah Spike?"
"I think I have an idea. Her grades report from high school shows that she took ASL. Doesn't the boss do too? If he positions himself in the right way Terry might not be able to see him."
"Spike, you make my day every time."
"Love you too, Ed."
"Wordy, how are the ears coming?"
"Give me a sec, boss... Alright, can you hear this?"
"You're mine, you hear me? They are not going to get you! You belong to me! Don't talk to them. They need to leave us alone so we can leave together. Just a boat, the sunset and us. Doesn't that sound romantic? You like romance, don't you? You said to that crooked ex-boyfriend of yours that you loved the sunset! Well I love the sunset, too. And now there is nothing standing between us and the sunset except for those cops over there. But don't worry, love, I'll take care of them. I'll protect you. You're mine!"
She reopens her eyes when she's made her decision. So he wants to spend the rest of his life with her? He loves her? Then why is he doing this to her? She notices a man in uniform move into her field of vision and realizes that he's maneuvering himself so carefully because he doesn't want her attacker to notice him.
Suddenly another cop starts talking to Terry via a megaphone. A distraction, she thinks and at the same time the other cop starts signing.
"Blink twice if you understand me." She blinks twice.
"Great. We can hear you. The man's name is Terry Callaghan and we'll try to get you out of there safely." With her left hand, the one pressing against her thigh as far away from Terry as possible, she spells:
"Let me talk to him. Please."
Greg frowns.
"Ed, she wants to talk to him. I'm not sure she can think straight enough to do that."
"Give her a try. Chances are she's the only one who can calm him down."
Greg nods and signs:
"Ok."
He steps over to Ed and takes over the megaphone but doesn't say a thing. Jules and Sam are in position but there is no way they can shoot Terry without hurting Malone.
Emma swallows and gathers all her strength for a convincing performance. If she gets this right, she walks. If she gets this wrong, she dies. Today.
Slowly she relaxes herself against Terry's body while she's forcing down the need to gag.
"Terry?"
He jumps but doesn't say a word. Go slowly, she says to herself. He needs to realize that you're your own entity, that you have a mind separate from his and he needs to be fine with that.
"Terry, can you hear me?"
He still doesn't say anything. His hand has stopped shaking a bit and he seems to be listening. Good.
"Terry, I know you love me and you don't want to hurt me." She waits. So does he. She swallows and hates herself for what she's going to say next.
"Terry, I love you, too." He suddenly yanks her closer, gripping her tightly.
"You do, don't you!"
"Yes, Terry. I do. But honey, if you want us to be together, you need to put the gun down. There is no other way. I couldn't stand watching you die, and I know that you don't want me to die either." She pauses for effect.
"I promise you that if you put that gun down without hurting anyone, you'll be free. I'll tell them that what you did was out of love. Didn't you, Terry? They'll understand. If you just put the gun down we can watch the sunset from your boat tonight. All you need to do is put the gun down and we'll be together. Forever."
He's started shaking again. She can feel his excitement and focusing on the cops in front of her is all she can do to keep herself from throwing up.
"Sweetheart, if you shoot now, everything's over. We will not be together and you won't get to be with me day and night. You don't want that to happen, do you, Terry?" This time she's waiting for a response. And she can feel his hot, foul breath as he whispers against her ear:
"No, I don't."
"She's incredible, boss."
Ed and Greg just look at her and then at each other. They have not expected her to be this good. Not under these circumstances. She actually might have a chance to get out of this alive.
"So Terry, love, can you put the gun down for me, can you do that?"
He's hesitating.
"Can you do that for me, Terry? Put the gun on the ground slowly and all will be okay?"
She feels him pressing the gun more tightly against her temples and for a moment she thinks he's going to shoot but then he retracts himself from her, eerily slowly, and bends down. She hears the clicking sound as the gun touches the asphalt but doesn't dare to look. All she can feel is the cool air on her back where Terry's sweat has drenched her shirt. And then suddenly the cops are surrounding her and Terry's piercing screams make her ears ring.
"You promised! You promised! You promised! You said you loved me! I hate you! I'll kill you! Let me go!"
She wonders if she should turn around and look at him. But somehow she just doesn't have the strength to move a single muscle in her body. An EMT shines lights in her eyes and she closes them.
"I'm fine." Suddenly she's irritated. She wants to be left alone. Too many people.
"Emma? I'm Greg. Are you okay?" She opens them again and in front of her stands the cop who signed to her. Up close she sees that he's older than she thought, bald. His eyes are kind and look worried and she can't help but smile at them.
"Really, I'm fine. Thank you for telling me his name, Greg. Without it this would have been impossible. I'm sorry that you had to put your team's and your own life in danger for me."
He studies her trying to determine whether she's going to break down in the next moment but she looks at him with clear eyes.
"It's our job, Emma. Just like it's your job to save lives. Today you actually did ours and saved yourself. Have you ever had special negotiation training?"
A raw laugh escapes her mouth and the sound of it reminds her that she has absolutely no reason to be joyful.
"All I know is what life taught me."
She's in their – her – living room scrubbing frantically the dark spot of blood that's been eating itself into the carpet. With a cry of frustration she grabs it, rolls it up and carries it on her shoulder towards the door, where right at this moment the bell rings. She stops dead in her tracks. It's been five days and her heart still starts racing when she hears unidentified noises or when someone starts talking to her from behind. She wonders if it really is a good idea leaving for Afghanistan but her things are already packed and if she's honest with herself she has to admit that she's welcoming the change. The funeral was hard on her and she still doesn't allow herself to think about Jamal too much. Because then she starts thinking about his tender, healing hands and the way they let go of her before he hit the ground, dying.
The bell rings again. She lets the carpet fall to the ground and goes to open the door. She swears that if it's Jehovah's witnesses again, someone's going to die today. But in front of her stands Greg in uniform with a bag of Oreo's in his hand.
"I thought maybe they don't have them in Afghanistan."
She doesn't know what to say but realizing her rudeness invites him in. She sees that he's about to decline and stops him before he can say anything.
"You didn't come here because of a bag of Oreo's and I'm not going to let you leave without having offered you a thank you coffee or tea or bourbon or what ever it is you drink." He smiles and enters, closing the door behind him and following her into the kitchen. He notices the carpet on the floor, the packed up bags, the neatness of the house and is surprised by the coziness of the kitchen.
"What can I offer you, Greg?" He stands next to the sink and watches her. Her movements are slow and fluid and he wonders if she's the same in the field, calm and steady, but then he notices that her hand is trembling.
"Coffee, if it's not too much trouble. My shift starts in half an hour. An espresso?"
"Underway. I wanted to thank you and Ed for coming to the funeral, by the way. I didn't get a chance to do it then but it meant a lot to me and it says a lot about the kind of people that you are." She looks at him while the coffee is pouring into its cup. She makes another one, puts the cups on the kitchen table and sits down.
"I take it you drink it black?" He nods and sits down next to her. For a moment they look at each other in silence. Greg searches her eyes for something, then smiles.
"You'd make a good member of the team." Emma laughs, this time without guilt.
"I doubt that. I hate working out and you guys look like you do a lot of that."
"There is that. How'd you end up working for the Red Cross, then?"
For a moment she thinks she can see Jamal in the corner of her eyes, standing next to the microwave. She blinks and he's gone. Or was never there. She focuses her eyes back on Greg, who either pretends he didn't notice anything or really didn't.
"It's one of those paths where you just feel that you're on the right track. I wanted to join the Red Cross for as long as I could remember. Thanks to the generosity and trust of my parents I've traveled to poor countries from an early age on. And then med school was the only thing that seemed to make sense to me. There are always going to be more sick people than doctors."
Greg stands up and thanks her for the coffee. On the way to the door he reminds her not to get killed in Afghanistan and to check in with him when she's back. She promises. At the door she calls him back.
"Hey Greg, what about you and the SRU?" He turns around, one hand on the door of the van, and smiles.
"Kind of like you. It's one of those paths where you just feel that you're on the right track, doing the right thing."