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Suburban Deception-Chapter 3

Are you reviewing? Because I'm open to going a few ways with this one so try and sway me. Also tell me what you're thinking about the structure (not like the episode) is it confusing? Thank, I try to respond to all the reviews I get. I, unfortunately do not own the Flashpoint cast, though I am open to late Christmas presents...

It was days like these that he wished he'd carry his gun 24/7. He wasn't a fan of having a gun in his home, he didn't like the ideas that his daughters might some day be able to reach the top shelf of the cabinet...behind the baking sheets... the ones that even his wife couldn't reach...he just was never a huge fan of guns. He didn't object to them at work (he wouldn't object to one now for that matter), people don't really take you seriously if you don't have some kind of danger. Even when Greg would go and negotiate people someone would accompany him with a gun. So Wordy felt almost naked at this moment. When entering a situation they were usually covered head to toe in protective gear for their bodies and other gear and weapons to use if needed. At this moment Wordy had a t-shirt (soaked with sweat), a pair of shorts, running shoes, his phone, his wallet and badge, and an old pocket knife (again the paranoia, he wouldn't leave home without something to protect himself).

He had just gotten to the second floor of the cosy home and went directly to the room with the light on. He pressed his ear to the door and was able to head a few different sounds, crying, heavy breathing, yelling...he figured it was about time for another voice to join the mix. "Police! Strategic Response Unit! Lower the weapon!" Shit, he cursed himself. This isn't a tactical entry, all I've really got is my head right now and I don't want that blown off! He took a breath and quickly surveyed the room. He knew that he had made the wrong kind of entry, he should have gone in more gently, but he really wasn't expecting what he saw. A boy, the 15 year old by the look of it, was holding the gun...not what he expected. The gun was pointed at his parents, sitting up horrified in their king size bed but when Wordy barged in the boy had turned slightly. He didn't turn his body as much as he turned his head. Everyone in the room looked at Wordy for a moment and he tried to take stock of the situation.

15 year old boy approximately 30 feet away from me. Too far to do anything fast. Looks more scared than anything. He stood on the mother's side of the bed. She's pale, scared? No, something else off about her. Dad looks mad, muscles tense, he's thinking. Damn. "Sir, stay where you are." Wordy yelled too late. The dad had already lunged out, over the mother and tried to take the gun from the boy. There was a struggle, mom was yelling, dad was on top of her, the son had way better leverage and was just about to pull the gun free when it went off.

When the struggle started, Wordy took cover. Out of habit he abandoned the doorframe where he stood and turned against the wall. He let himself gently edge his face into the door way to try and keep track of what was going on. In the confusion, he had not heard another door open in the hall while he analyzed the situation. He had not heard the quiet footsteps behind him. And by the time he figured out what had happened, the small nine year old boy was left standing in the door frame where Wordy had just been. He saw him and without thinking he dove at the boy, trying to knock him over to cover on the other side of the door. He heard the gun go off and felt the burning in his left shoulder, he knew that he had taken a bullet but he continued to pull the boy to the other side of the door. "Stay here." Wordy said with an authoritative voice. The boy was white as a ghost and looked horrified as he saw blood drip from Wordy's shoulder.

He got to his feet and approached the door again, trying to find the least awkward way to minimize the bleeding and hold his shoulder. When Wordy appeared in the room he saw the father on the ground, nursing what looked like a broken nose, mom was still in bed, screaming, and the boy was standing, pointing the gun at his father. The boy looked scared, nearly crying and Wordy decided to intervene.

"Hey," he said gently, not realizing how ragged his voice sounded. The boy looked up but kept an eye on his father. "my name is Kevin, my friends call me Wordy." He looked at the boy, trying to read the face of mixed emotions. "Can you tell me your name?" Wordy tried to be empathetic but the throbbing in his shoulder was getting to him.

The boy considered Wordy for a minute. "I...is...is Ryan okay?" he asked stuttering, his voice breaking slightly.

"Is Ryan your little brother?" Wordy asked cautiously.

"Y...yeah. D...did I shoot him?" Fear was evident in his words and tears were coming to his eyes.

"No. No buddy you didn't shoot Ryan. You got a little piece of me," Wordy said showing the boy his right hand which had been awkwardly tucked under his left arm in an attempt to control the bleeding. "but it's okay," Wordy said with a bit of a smile "because I know you didn't mean to do that. I know that you were scared and you didn't want anyone to take the gun from you, I'm not going to try that, okay? No one," Wordy gave a serious look at the father "is going to do that. I just want to talk." Wordy said only faltering as he tried to put his hand back on his shoulder.

"Eric. I'm Eric," the boy said with a slightly calmer voice. He looked like he was trying to think, debating something in his mind. "Is...do you...ugh..." he let out a sigh. "R...Ryan." He called out. Wordy's arms went to his side as he tried to prevent the boy from coming into the room.

"Eric. I told Ryan to stay where he was. I don't want him near the gun, you know?" Wordy said hesitantly, not sure what Eric was thinking.

"No, me either," he said quickly, "Ryan, go to the other bathroom and get Mr. Wordy that big towel okay?" Eric said. Ryan quietly scattered away and came back within seconds.

"Here Mr. Wordy." Ryan held out a blue and white towel with dinosaurs on it. Wordy took it and told Ryan to go downstairs quietly, hoping that Greg was there by now, but the boy didn't want to move. Wordy put him back in a safe spot in the hall and returned to the room with the towel, still not quite understanding.

"I...it's for you," Eric said, looking almost shy, "you...you're shoulder. It's, ah, it's bleeding a lot. I figured you could wrap that around your shoulder." Wordy smiled.

"Thank you Eric, that's really a smart idea, you must do well in school right?" Wordy asked as he tightly pulled the towel around his shoulder.

"Ah, I do okay." He said calmly, seeming to almost forget about the gun in his hand. His father let out a rude laugh, bringing attention back to him. Wordy gave him a stern look that just screamed Shut Up!

"Eric," Wordy called out, trying to get his attention on him again. "want to tell my why we're here tonight?" Wordy asked, genuinely confused. Eric smirked a bit. It wasn't an evil sort of look, more like a resigned sort of determination.

"Well Wordy, I'm sorry that you had to walk in on this. I mean, I get that your job is to stop me, but I'm going to kill my parents tonight." Eric looked from Wordy to his father as he cocked the gun for another shot.

Cliffhangers, cliffhangers...I promise I won't keep you waiting for long.