You Murdered Him

Toronto General – Roof

As Clarkson shouted, "You ruined my life!" Sam's eyes flicked to Peter's trigger finger, which thanks to military training was aligned on the barrel, a safety measure drilled into them since boot camp. This would afford him a small window of opportunity, but he must time it right. When Clarkson's finger began to move, telegraphing his intent to fire, Sam used his uninjured leg to push up and to his left, knocking into Dr. Ferguson, using his body to shield the psychologist as Clarkson fired.

The burning pain of a bullet grazing his arm was a small price to pay for keeping Ferguson from certain death. If he hadn't moved, there was no way Peter would've missed at this close of range. Before he could react further, Clarkson gripped his hair and yanked him off Ferguson. As the jackass pulled him backward, Sam wished for his standard buzz cut, which wouldn't have given Clarkson something to grab. Sam grimaced and groaned as Clarkson dumped him on the ground and pressed his boot into the back of his wounded thigh, sending pain shooting up and down his leg.

Obidiah gasped as he lay flat on his back, surprised to be alive, and shocked at how fast Sam moved. He wiped at his eyes, the spray of blood from Sam's arm coated his face. Unsure whether he should remain still or move, having never been in a situation like this, he prayed help would arrive before they both ended up dead.

Unaware help was almost there, in the form of three SRU officers at the top to the stairs, Sam almost rolled, in an attempt to take Clarson down, but the barrel of the gun at the back of his skull and Peter's shouted words halted him.

"MOVE A MUSCLE, AND I BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT JUST LIKE YOU DID TO MATTE. THEN I'LL DO THE SAME TO YOUR DOCTOR."

Toronto General – Security Room

The sound of gunfire through his headset and Greg's soft, "Active shooter on the roof," had Ed on his feet and racing for the stairwell as he responded, "On my way. Spike, Lou, feed us details when you find out who we are dealing with."

"Copy," Lou responded, and he continued to sift through the hospital personnel files … grumbling that they had no method of filtering the online records by anything other than alphabetical and could only display four photos at a time on the screen.

Spike let out a groan. "Nothing is coming up in facial rec. Whoever he is, he doesn't possess a criminal record."

Lou clicked to present the next grouping, scanning four males, the last Ian Clacher. He clicked again, and his eyes went to the only male on the page. A grin grew. "Got him! Peter Clarkson." Clicking once more to open the employee details as Spike's fingers flew on his keyboard to search for records on the name, Lou relayed, "Clarkson is a recent hire. He works as general maintenance. Last employer listed is … CAF … he was in the military."

Toronto General – Roof

Exiting the door a few moments after the gunshot, Jules held a shield with one hand and her MP5 in the other. The sight before them, Sam face down on the roof with a pistol at the back of his head, caused her breath to seize in her lungs.

Wordy covered Boss and himself with his shield, MP5 aimed at the subject, worried the slightest noise might cause Sam's death. His gaze shifted to the man lying on his back, who must be Dr. Ferguson, noting the blood splattered on his face. His eyes returned to Sam, searching for a wound and found a little puddle of blood forming near Sam's bicep.

Hearing Ed, Lou, and Spike, Greg took a moment to assess his options. Although the situation was definitely in the red zone, if he startled the armed subject, he might fire, and Sam would not survive a point-blank range bullet to the brain. He latched onto the name … Matt … the name of the man who Sam said he killed in the friendly fire incident. Greg wondered if this might be a buddy of Matt's or perhaps a family member since he didn't know Matt's last name.

Having a name now, Greg prepared to engage the subject but paused when Ed said, "On the eighth floor, almost to you. I'll take up a Sierra One position."

Unaware he was being observed, Peter lifted his boot and growled. "You don't deserve to live. You should've eaten a bullet after killing Ben." He stepped back and removed his gun from Sam's head. "Roll over. Do it, or I kill the doctor, and you know I will."

Greg, Jules, and Wordy all breathed a little easier as the subject withdrew the pistol and put a little distance between him and Sam. By no means was the situation contained, but at least Sam's death wasn't a certain outcome now if they had to shoot Clarkson … which they would if they couldn't resolve this without further bloodshed.

Sam grimaced as he rolled, his arm and leg both throbbing. Once on his back, he stared down the barrel of Peter's gun again but refused to show fear. He knew Peter wouldn't let them go, but he finally realized Dr. Ferguson's comments to Reba must've been some sort of distress signal the nurse would understand because he was Ferguson's only patient in Toronto. Stalling for time, hoping help would arrive before Clarkson followed through on his threat … which Sam had no doubt he would, he said, "Thought about eating my gun after Ben died."

"HE DIDN'T DIE, YOU MURDERED HIM."

Peter's accusation hit Sam hard. So many nights he questioned if he was a murderer … but he came to realize it was a tragic accident … one that shouldn't have happened. One that wouldn't have occurred if not for Clarkson's failure. Rage Sam had buried burst forth, "I WAS CLEARED TO FIRE … BY YOU, JACKASS! BENJAMIN MATTE, MY BEST FRIEND, MY BROTHER, IS DEAD BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO DO A FULL HEADCOUNT AFTER THE RECCY. YEAH, MY BULLET KILLED BEN, BUT YOU'RE THE MURDERER."

Greg couldn't wait any longer, and called out, "SRU, police, … lower your weapon."

Ed moved out onto the roof as Sam yelled. His stomach soured as heard Sam and viewed the gun pointed at Sam's face, but Ed couldn't allow emotions to impede him at the moment. Scanning, he found a sniper position off to the right of his teammates. Attaining his position just as Greg made their presence known, Ed said, "I have the solution."

Peter whipped his head towards the doorway, noting three officers. "STAY BACK, OR I SHOOT HIM NOW."

"I would like to resolve this without further harm to anyone, Mr. Clarkson."

"You know my name?" Peter gaped, but then refocused on Sam.

"Yes, and mine is Greg, Sergeant Greg Parker. I would like to help you if I can. Peter, can you tell me why you are here?"

"He's a murderer … he killed Matte … and he got away scot-free while ruining my life. He should've eaten a bullet. But no, the privileged little asshat is handed a prime job on SRU while I'm stripped of my rank and told I will never be promoted to command again. He murdered Ben and my career with the same bullet. He doesn't deserve to live."

"Boss, his military file is sealed other than he was honorably discharged three months ago." Spike then added, "Found an obituary for Benjamin Matte in the Toronto Sun newspaper. He was KIA about six months ago in Afghanistan. His military records are sealed too. I can try and get them unsealed, but it will take time."

Greg put his hand over his mouth as he whispered, "Okay." Lowering his left hand, Greg caught Sam's eyes boring into him, lingered a moment, hoped he could resolve this without anyone dying today, and refocused on the subject. "Peter, please lower the gun an let's talk about this. I don't want to be forced to shoot you. I want to help."

Sam turned his gaze to the SRU officers after Peter said he got a job with SRU. What the hell? Those are the people from the photos Ferguson showed me. His eyes connected briefly with the sergeant speaking to Clarkson. A strange sense of calm washed over him as he recalled the words he said to Ferguson when viewing Parker's picture. Listens. Helps. Sarge. Connects.

Moving his gaze to the woman, Sam was surprised by her petite stature, but awed by her beauty and the intensity shining in her brown eyes. Her attention never wavered from Clarkson … nor did her MP5. Many new words popped into his head. Capable … dynamite … small but packs a punch … Sexy sniper.

Shifting to the other man … flashes of images crossed his mind. Little girls running to the solidly built man and squealing Daddy as they wrapped their arms around him as he crouched to hug them … and a blonde woman hugging the man as he rose, and him kissing her cheek and smiling broadly. Father. Husband … family man … kind … strong … honorable … Wordy. The last thought confused Sam. Wordy? Does he talk a lot?

Sam tuned back in as Parker said, "So you believe Sam is responsible for your troubles?" He blinked. How does he know my name? Oh, right, Reba must've told him. His attention was drawn to Peter as he ranted.

"HE IS!" Peter roared, his gun waving at Sam. "He is the one who shot Ben. He should've recognized one of our own. But did he get demoted? No. I did. The Army is my life, and he stole that away from me when he blithely killed Matte. He never worked for anything in his life … handed his position in JTF2 because his father is General Badass. I worked hard, earned my position as sergeant … and with one bullet, this asshat blew away my career.

"I wasn't given any real choice. Stay and be a peon for the rest of my service with no chance of advancing into leadership roles, or take an early, honorable discharge. I was forced out when it was all Braddock's fault. He needs to pay for what he did to Ben and me. He should've been court-martialed, found guilty, imprisoned, and received a dishonorable discharge. But no … he walks free, and his daddy arranges a prime position for him with SRU … with your team."

Greg blinked at the last three words. How does he know Sam's on my team?

Sam's eyes whipped back to Parker. His team?

Ferguson remained still, but worried this revelation might wreak havoc with Sam … too much information too soon could disorient him … and add to that, being held hostage while being blamed for Ben's death … all not good.

A little slow on the uptake, Ed remembered something Steve said yesterday. If you want a good candidate to replace the idiot before he gets someone killed, I can pass you Pete Clarkson's number. Ed sucked in a breath. "Jesus, this is the guy who Steve recommended. Boss, I think perhaps Steve told Peter about Sam being on our team."

Bright flashes assaulted Sam, overwhelming him with a mass of imagery making him dizzy and disoriented. He squeezed his lids shut and pressed his palms to his eyes as a moan escaped. His stomach turned, and he rolled to his side as his abdominal muscles clenched and saliva filled his mouth, preparing to hurl.

His action was misinterpreted by Peter, who believed Sam tried to escape his punishment. He bellowed, "YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY WITH THIS!" His pistol raised aiming for Sam's head, his finger moving to the trigger.

BANG!

Blood sprayed Sam and Obidiah as Peter's lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Sam's retching was the only sound on the roof for the space of seven seconds. Ed's sharp intake of breath spurred Jules, Wordy, and Greg into action.

Wordy moved towards their subject, kicking the gun away from Clarkson's hand and squatting to check his pulse … a customary yet unnecessary action with half the man's brain matter splattered on the concrete. "Subject neutralized," he reported for the autoscripter.

Greg went straight for Sam, pulling out a pressure bandage and calling out, "We need medical personnel up here now. Sam's been shot, and he is vomiting," as Jules went to Dr. Ferguson.

Obidiah shook off the delicate hands of Constable Callaghan as she asked if he were injured. He crawled over to Sam, shaking so badly he didn't think his legs would hold him.

Shifting with the psychologist, Jules helped Boss by taking over applying pressure to Sam's wound as Greg spoke soft, reassuring words to Sam while Ferguson pulled Sam's head in his lap after her teammate quit puking. Jules noted that though Sam's eyes opened, they were unfocused … distant … almost like he was someplace else.

Several people rushing out of the stairwell drew Jules' attention. She relinquished her hold as the hospital staff took over. She rose and backed away to give them room, and ended up standing beside Wordy, Spike, and Lou watching as the medical team moved Sam onto a backboard and strapped him down. She remained in place, silent like the rest of her team as they whisked Sam to the door and off the roof with Dr. Ferguson following.

Spike broke the silence, as he glanced over at Ed, who stood apart from them, observing protocol not to speak to anyone after a lethal shot. "Oh my god … we almost lost Sam … again."

Nodding, Lou released a heavy sigh, thinking the same, but said, "Is this why Sam left the military?"

Greg wanted to stop any supposition so said, "Sam was absolved in the friendly fire incident. He is not to blame. He was taking out targets 1500 meters away, sniping with a .50 cal after being cleared to fire … by Clarkson."

"No, you misunderstood. I agree … not Sam's fault." Lou peered at Boss and pointed to Clarkson. "This … him. Steve's animosity last night makes sense now. Sam likely had a target on his back … his own unit buddies blamed him. It wouldn't have been safe for him to stay even if he wanted to."

Jules sighed. "And we failed him too. If he remembers, Sam might not want to come back."

"One of us should go and check how Sam is … regardless of General Braddock's edict to stay away." Wordy shifted his weight. "I'll remain here until the unis arrive to take over the scene."

"I'll go," Jules offered. When Boss tried to counter her, she said, "Boss, you need to go with Ed to SIU, Spike and Lou can take care of our equipment. I'll talk to Dr. Ferguson … he may be willing to give me details on Sam."

Greg nodded. "Okay, but if he asks you to leave … do so without argument."

"Copy." Jules strode towards the door, followed by Lou and Spike.

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AN: Look, no evil cliffy in this chapter ... evil muse must be on vacation.