Faith struggled to keep up as the gunman pulled her along the rain-slicked streets that headed back to the warehouse. All the while, her mind sought possible ways to apprehend her extortionist without killing him or getting killed herself. She still had not come up with a solution to her dilemma when they reached the warehouse that was still crawling with police officers and emergency personnel.
Guess I'll just have to wing it, she thought to herself and a flutter of anxiety spread throughout the inside of her abdomen. How could she possibly be in this situation? She surely must be dreaming.
But the quick and painful jerk to her arm assured her that she was not sleeping, and she quickened her pace. They were back in the alley behind the warehouse where this whole nightmare had started. The gunman, who was still so careful to keep his face hidden from her, grabbed her police radio, switched it on and tuned it to a different channel. He then tuned another radio to the same channel, and handed hers back to her. With a dizzying flash of insight, Faith realized that her captor was holding Bosco's police radio in his hand.
"You'll go in there now and get me my drugs," that sinister voice said to her matter-of-factly. "I'll be listening in on you, so be good now. I'll give you fifteen minutes to come back, but no longer than that. If you're not here within those fifteen minutes, I'll be gone and so will your partner. Do you understand?"
Faith nodded. "Yes, I understand."
"Good girl. Now go on."
The hair on the back of Faith's neck raised as she walked into the warehouse; she could feel those dark and hidden eyes boring into her back.
Sully was the first officer to approach her. He had a concerned look on his face, and she suddenly realized just how pale and bedraggled she must appear. She forced a smile to her face, and finally felt the first stirrings of a plan being born in her frantic mind.
Sully was even more confused by the beaming smile than he had been by the pale and fearful expression he had observed on Yokas' face only moments before.
"Hey. Everything alright, Faith?"
"Oh yeah. Everything's just fine, Sully," Faith said brightly.
"Are you sure, because you were looking a little ragged there for a minute."
"Oh sure. I'm great. I just had a 2115 out in the back there that I thought I should check out. But it's all clear and all fine," Faith's tone was practically ecstatic, but inside she was pleading for Sully to understand that the phony code numbers and her strange behavior were significant. She hurried off in the direction of the upper balcony of the warehouse before Sully could make a questioning remark about the code.
She walked through the warehouse in a seemingly nonchalant manner, but all the while she listened intently to the officers around her. She heard nothing, no scuffle of activity or quietly barked instructions that would give her reason to believe that Sully had understood her. Her heart was pounding painfully, and she was considering trying something different when she heard the loud report of a gunshot in the back alley.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she repeated over and over to herself as she ran to the door leading back out into the dark night.
Once she reached the alleyway, she could not quite allow herself to comprehend the implications of what she saw. The gunman was lying in the alleyway and was quickly losing blood from a gunshot wound in his chest. By the light of several police flashlights, she could finally see the face of Bosco's apprehender as it began to pale from blood loss.
"Oh god, no!" she screamed as she ran to the criminal's side. She barely heard the other policemen muttering about someone running and how they had to shoot. All she could think about was Bosco alone and dying in some dark unknown place.
The gunman was still conscious, but barely. In the distance, Faith heard an ambulance siren and cursed silently. Kim and Carlos must have been recalled from the warehouse. She quickly explored the chest wound and realized that there was no way help would arrive in time. In absolute agony, she heaved up the mortally wounded man by his shirt and forced him to look at her.
"Where is he?!" she screamed into the man's face.
A small and satisfied smile was the only answer the villain gave her before he died.
***
When Bosco next opened his eyes, he could not be certain that he had actually regained consciousness. His surroundings were so dark and most of his body was so numb, that he could discern no difference between waking and sleeping beyond the dull ache that was causing the back of his head quite a bit of pain. He heard a strange and strangled sound and was shocked to realize that it had come from his own mouth. That frail cry could not possibly have come from him! But with the noise many other sensations came rushing back to the injured man, and he had no further time to reflect on the weakness he had heard in himself. He wheezed as stabbing pain from his broken ribs interfered with his breathing, and that sound alarmed him far more than his initial outcry. Involuntarily, his body began to shiver violently as he began to feel the full effects of the blood loss he had suffered from the gunshot that he had received seemingly lifetimes ago.
But the thing that worried and ate at him the most was the fact that he could see nothing around him. The darkness that enveloped him was complete, and his heart began to gallop with the all to familiar fear that was his constant companion when he was alone in the shadows. As his breathing became more labored and great sparks of white light began to swim before his eyes, Bosco considered surrendering to the physical pleas of his body. It would be just so much easier to drift away from consciousness and leave all this darkness and fear. He felt his eyes drooping with weariness, and his mouth curved at its edges into a small, relieved smile.
But he suddenly jerked back to the dark world around him when he thought of how angry Faith would be if he just gave up like that. In fact, he wondered what had actually gotten him to thinking of escape since it was so against his nature to look for the easy way out of things. It must be the blood loss making my mind crazy, he told himself wryly. Again, he tried to think of what Faith would do in the same circumstances, and his fuzzy brain came up with a plan of action.
He felt the area around his prone body to discover that he was in a relatively small room. The fear threatened to surge over him again when he realized just how cramped the room was, but he forced it down to a manageable level. Panicking had done nothing but render him unconscious the last time, and now he truly did not want to experience a repeat performance. Although he vaguely remembered losing consciousness the last time he tried to sit up, he thought that he could explore the gunshot wound more effectively by elevating himself somewhat. Taking his time and using up most of what strength he had left, Bosco slowly pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall that was closest to his back. It took him quite a while since he experienced great waves of dizziness with the slightest exertion and did not want to risk blacking out from movement that was too fast for his body to handle. When he finally was able to sit up, he prayed desperately that his body would be able to provide just the little bit of stamina he needed to discern how bad the injury to his hip was. Actually, he doubted very much that he could stay upright for long since the position drained what little energy he had left. But if he continued this line of thinking, he was going to let the fear overtake him, so he simply concentrated on exploring the wound.
The bleeding had slowed, and Bosco was grateful for that since it meant that he might live a few minutes more. But he was still losing quite a bit of blood, and the bleeding had to be controlled. Not knowing what else to do, he slowly pulled at his uniform shirt in what turned out to be an exhausting and almost failed battle to take it off. When he did manage to strip the shirt off, he barely had the power that he needed to make a pressure bandage out of it and tie it around his hip with the sleeves. When he finished binding the wound as best he could, he had no energy left. Insulted by so many physical wounds, his body slouched against the wall, and alone and in the dark he was forced to concentrate solely on maintaining his harsh, raspy breathing.
Guess I'll just have to wing it, she thought to herself and a flutter of anxiety spread throughout the inside of her abdomen. How could she possibly be in this situation? She surely must be dreaming.
But the quick and painful jerk to her arm assured her that she was not sleeping, and she quickened her pace. They were back in the alley behind the warehouse where this whole nightmare had started. The gunman, who was still so careful to keep his face hidden from her, grabbed her police radio, switched it on and tuned it to a different channel. He then tuned another radio to the same channel, and handed hers back to her. With a dizzying flash of insight, Faith realized that her captor was holding Bosco's police radio in his hand.
"You'll go in there now and get me my drugs," that sinister voice said to her matter-of-factly. "I'll be listening in on you, so be good now. I'll give you fifteen minutes to come back, but no longer than that. If you're not here within those fifteen minutes, I'll be gone and so will your partner. Do you understand?"
Faith nodded. "Yes, I understand."
"Good girl. Now go on."
The hair on the back of Faith's neck raised as she walked into the warehouse; she could feel those dark and hidden eyes boring into her back.
Sully was the first officer to approach her. He had a concerned look on his face, and she suddenly realized just how pale and bedraggled she must appear. She forced a smile to her face, and finally felt the first stirrings of a plan being born in her frantic mind.
Sully was even more confused by the beaming smile than he had been by the pale and fearful expression he had observed on Yokas' face only moments before.
"Hey. Everything alright, Faith?"
"Oh yeah. Everything's just fine, Sully," Faith said brightly.
"Are you sure, because you were looking a little ragged there for a minute."
"Oh sure. I'm great. I just had a 2115 out in the back there that I thought I should check out. But it's all clear and all fine," Faith's tone was practically ecstatic, but inside she was pleading for Sully to understand that the phony code numbers and her strange behavior were significant. She hurried off in the direction of the upper balcony of the warehouse before Sully could make a questioning remark about the code.
She walked through the warehouse in a seemingly nonchalant manner, but all the while she listened intently to the officers around her. She heard nothing, no scuffle of activity or quietly barked instructions that would give her reason to believe that Sully had understood her. Her heart was pounding painfully, and she was considering trying something different when she heard the loud report of a gunshot in the back alley.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she repeated over and over to herself as she ran to the door leading back out into the dark night.
Once she reached the alleyway, she could not quite allow herself to comprehend the implications of what she saw. The gunman was lying in the alleyway and was quickly losing blood from a gunshot wound in his chest. By the light of several police flashlights, she could finally see the face of Bosco's apprehender as it began to pale from blood loss.
"Oh god, no!" she screamed as she ran to the criminal's side. She barely heard the other policemen muttering about someone running and how they had to shoot. All she could think about was Bosco alone and dying in some dark unknown place.
The gunman was still conscious, but barely. In the distance, Faith heard an ambulance siren and cursed silently. Kim and Carlos must have been recalled from the warehouse. She quickly explored the chest wound and realized that there was no way help would arrive in time. In absolute agony, she heaved up the mortally wounded man by his shirt and forced him to look at her.
"Where is he?!" she screamed into the man's face.
A small and satisfied smile was the only answer the villain gave her before he died.
***
When Bosco next opened his eyes, he could not be certain that he had actually regained consciousness. His surroundings were so dark and most of his body was so numb, that he could discern no difference between waking and sleeping beyond the dull ache that was causing the back of his head quite a bit of pain. He heard a strange and strangled sound and was shocked to realize that it had come from his own mouth. That frail cry could not possibly have come from him! But with the noise many other sensations came rushing back to the injured man, and he had no further time to reflect on the weakness he had heard in himself. He wheezed as stabbing pain from his broken ribs interfered with his breathing, and that sound alarmed him far more than his initial outcry. Involuntarily, his body began to shiver violently as he began to feel the full effects of the blood loss he had suffered from the gunshot that he had received seemingly lifetimes ago.
But the thing that worried and ate at him the most was the fact that he could see nothing around him. The darkness that enveloped him was complete, and his heart began to gallop with the all to familiar fear that was his constant companion when he was alone in the shadows. As his breathing became more labored and great sparks of white light began to swim before his eyes, Bosco considered surrendering to the physical pleas of his body. It would be just so much easier to drift away from consciousness and leave all this darkness and fear. He felt his eyes drooping with weariness, and his mouth curved at its edges into a small, relieved smile.
But he suddenly jerked back to the dark world around him when he thought of how angry Faith would be if he just gave up like that. In fact, he wondered what had actually gotten him to thinking of escape since it was so against his nature to look for the easy way out of things. It must be the blood loss making my mind crazy, he told himself wryly. Again, he tried to think of what Faith would do in the same circumstances, and his fuzzy brain came up with a plan of action.
He felt the area around his prone body to discover that he was in a relatively small room. The fear threatened to surge over him again when he realized just how cramped the room was, but he forced it down to a manageable level. Panicking had done nothing but render him unconscious the last time, and now he truly did not want to experience a repeat performance. Although he vaguely remembered losing consciousness the last time he tried to sit up, he thought that he could explore the gunshot wound more effectively by elevating himself somewhat. Taking his time and using up most of what strength he had left, Bosco slowly pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall that was closest to his back. It took him quite a while since he experienced great waves of dizziness with the slightest exertion and did not want to risk blacking out from movement that was too fast for his body to handle. When he finally was able to sit up, he prayed desperately that his body would be able to provide just the little bit of stamina he needed to discern how bad the injury to his hip was. Actually, he doubted very much that he could stay upright for long since the position drained what little energy he had left. But if he continued this line of thinking, he was going to let the fear overtake him, so he simply concentrated on exploring the wound.
The bleeding had slowed, and Bosco was grateful for that since it meant that he might live a few minutes more. But he was still losing quite a bit of blood, and the bleeding had to be controlled. Not knowing what else to do, he slowly pulled at his uniform shirt in what turned out to be an exhausting and almost failed battle to take it off. When he did manage to strip the shirt off, he barely had the power that he needed to make a pressure bandage out of it and tie it around his hip with the sleeves. When he finished binding the wound as best he could, he had no energy left. Insulted by so many physical wounds, his body slouched against the wall, and alone and in the dark he was forced to concentrate solely on maintaining his harsh, raspy breathing.