I'm so terribly sorry for the long wait that preceded this chapter. I found myself grasping for words, and I didn't want to settle for a something that was uninspired and 'meaningless'. I think that I've found my groove again, and I thank you for sticking with me through my writing difficulties ;)
Anyway, special thanks go out to Sarah, who not only fixes all of my careless mistakes, but she also is the reason this chapter even exists. It might have been a few more months of waiting had she not come through like she did! Thanks, SARAH!
That's it. I'm done rambling. Enjoy Chapter 11.
Joey
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A Fine Balance-
Chapter 11
Bosco fumbled nervously with the microscopic earpiece that he had been told to insert at the last minute. Every few seconds, a sharp, static noise would crackle over the tiny speaker, invading his sensitive ears and causing him to jump apprehensively. No one was talking to him, and he only hoped it would stay that way. He needed to do this entirely his way. After a final check of his discrete equipment, he took a deep breath in a last-ditch attempt to calm himself and swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. Proceeding forward toward the impending disaster that was the predicament he had thrown himself into, he prepared himself for the worse, but internally, clinging to every last strand of faith in a higher power, prayed for the best.
Don't show up unannounced. Tell him you're coming and make it clear that you're unarmed.
The voice that emerged from the small speaker was significantly louder than Bosco had anticipated, and he cringed until the crackling demands diminished and were replaced once again by silence and the occasional static eruption. The headache that had only been threatening to emerge just minutes before was beginning to pound its way into a full-fledged migraine. He shut his eyes briefly, allowing the darkness to relieve the debilitating pain for a few brief seconds before continuing on his slow, torturous journey to the side of the building where the other officers were tensely residing.
Glancing around nervously, Bosco cautiously edged his way closer to his destination - knowing all too well that depending on where the man has standing in the quaint apartment, he could very well be in clear sight, making him an all too easy target for the gunman.
Remember, take everything slowly. Don't push him; it will only make him feel threatened.
Bosco recoiled once again at the blaring intrusion as the deafening voice echoed through his ear canal, piercing through the silence and spurring forward the growing pain behind his eyes. 'Jesus, turn that shit down,' he mumbled to himself, gripping the one crutch he had taken along as a companion in a desperate attempt to compensate for the temporary lack of stability that proved overwhelming. Once he had regained the minimum amount of constancy required to proceed forward, he focused on taking those last few painful steps that separated him from the other three freezing officers.
"Bosco," Sully stated while shaking his head in a disapproving fashion that often frequented his greetings to the stubborn officer, "what the hell are you doing?"
Bosco glanced from Sully to Davis and then to the other senior officer that he wasn't all too familiar with, ignoring Sully's question for the time being while he tried to analyze the ins and outs of the building that detailed his vision. His eyes finally settled on the red substance oozing from Davis' upper-left arm.
"Davis, you were hit?"
Ty shook his head. "No. I mean, yeah," he quickly corrected himself his eyes conveying a sense of irritation that Bosco couldn't quite justify, "but it's nothing - just a flesh wound. What are you doing over here, Bosco?"
"I'm going to try to talk to this bastard. See what he wants."
"You?!" Sully stifled his laugh to a short, whispered chuckle, "This is just great…"
"This guy's upstairs," Bosco stated, squinting against the bright afternoon sun as he tried to get a distinct view of the upper level that was his final destination. "Do you know where?"
"He was by the staircase that leads down to the lower level when we were inside, but he was shooting at me from the side window," Davis guardedly motioned towards the corner that Sully had dragged him around when the madman had opened fire on him not too long ago.
Bosco eyes drifted over the freshly massacred ground, chunks of snow chewed up as a result of the onslaught of stray bullets that had assaulted the previously undefiled, virginal landscape. Subconsciously biting his lower lip, he mentally analyzed his underdeveloped plan of action. He knew the architecture of his battleground inside-out, which was a definite advantage, but along with that knowledge came the realization that once up those stairs, there was no other way out. The fire escape, having been more of a hazard than a safety feature, had been unlawfully dismantled more than a couple years ago. Bosco internally chastised himself for not taking more initiative to correct the wrong that could potentially assist in his, and his mother's, demise.
With one last drawn, strained exhalation, Bosco poised himself as best he could for the sensational foray that inevitably composed his future. Suppressing all of the extreme emotions that were inauspiciously gaining control over his reactions, he swallowed one last time, preparing himself for the dreaded, unimaginable horror that awaited his arrival.
With a light, supportive pat on the back, Davis bid farewell to his fellow officer, his parting words encouraging the frail Bosco to stay safe and not attempt any super-human feats to jeopardize his well-being any further than he already had. Ty couldn't help but eye the shaky figure skeptically - the pain and fear clearly evident in his clouded, blue eyes.
Bosco's fist clenched and released the handle on his singular crutch in a subtle display of anticipation. With one final manipulation of the sponge-like grip, he strode off as best he could, fighting his animalistic urge to flight.
His muscles twitched in uneasiness as the old floorboards moaned in distress under his ill-distributed weight. The sporadic bursts of static and the creaking of the wooden slats were playing with his already frayed nerves, and he felt the need to take a few seconds to recompose, resting his forearm on the alcohol-soiled counter, allowing his heavy eyelids to slip shut, the darkness medicating the flagrant pounding in his head.
A sharp crack snapped him back into focus, his eyes darting around the solemn bar, searching for the source of the noise.
Again, a similar sound invaded his senses, and he found himself looking up at the ceiling, the creaking permeating through the floor above. Someone was walking directly above him, and from what he could gather, whoever it was, was heading in the opposite direction as him - away from the staircase.
Bosco chose to view this as an opportunity, and tried to manufacture light, weightless steps as he covered the remaining ground that separated himself from the stairs.
Boscorelli, don't you dare approach unannounced.
He grinded his teeth in frustration at the loud, intrusive demand. Resisting the urge to whip the tiny, two-way earpiece against the wall, he reluctantly took the advise into consideration. The only thing worse than a crazy man, was a surprised, crazy man.
Looking up the dimly lit stairway, Bosco squinted to get a better view against the screaming retort from the surging pain that radiated through his skull. Satisfied that his path was unobstructed, Bosco summoned all his strength to silently make his way up towards the darkness.
The door that was the entrance to the apartment was ajar, providing a narrow window for Bosco to steal a glance into the space and try to assess his options that would help to formulate his next move.
Before his eyes had a chance to adjust to the significantly darker room, a whispered gasp caused his heart to pulse rapidly in his throat. Blinking several times, coercing his eyes to cooperate in the darkness, he heard it again.
"Maurice…"
It was so quiet, so soft in its delivery that Bosco doubted his senses for a brief second before he could determine its legitimacy himself. There, not five feet away from him, his mother sat trembling; her dark eyes an exhibit of sheer terror and uncertainty, pleading with her son for the long sought after security that had fled her previously safe residence
Bosco tore his eyes away from his mother and nervously started scanning the room for any other sign of life.
"Ma," he whispered, his voice failing to conceal his dread and reassure his mother. "Where is he?" The last part was mouthed more than vocalized as Bosco felt his mouth drying up and his muscles tense - adrenaline compensating for the spasm-like pain that was telling him he was in over his head.
Rose used her index finger to cautiously point towards the bedroom, her wrists chaffing against the rough twine that was fastening her to the chair in which she was seated.
"It's okay, Ma. It's okay now…"
Bosco allowed himself to absorb the information. His mother was alive. She seemed generally unharmed. She was scared - horrified - but alive. His body shook in relief, but the comforting feeling was stolen away as quickly as it had come.
"WHAT'S GOING ON?"
Jesus, Boscorelli, what the fuck are you doing?
The force and repugnance of the voice forced Bosco backwards, and he gripped the doorframe to prevent tumbling backwards from whence he came.
The only sound that could be heard was the cocking of a gun, the metal confirmation that death was not an issue, but rather an option. Bosco steadied himself enough and looked up, the barrel of the gun was in congruence with his line of vision, pointed at his mother.
Tears sprang from her eyes as the gun found it's familiar position, and it was apparent that this was not the first time the madman had turned his rage into threats that involved the weapon.
"You come ONE step closer and I swear, I will blow her head off."
Bosco raised his arms immediately, letting the man know that he had no intentions of doing anything that would harm the hostage.
"I'm not…" he cleared his throat and tried again to verbalize his whirling thoughts, "I don't want anyone to get hurt. I just want to know what you need. What can I give you that will put this all behind us?"
"What can you give me?" the man laughed while swinging his gun around to exaggerate his mock enthusiasm. "How many times do I have to tell you people? GIVE ME MY SON!"
A sob distracted the two men in their heated negotiation as Rose lost grip on her emotions.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The crazed demand only spurred the emotional release further, and the man's already thin patience was threatening to snap.
Bosco did his best to nod as his mother, who seemed to take a small token of comfort out of the gestured interaction, silencing her sobs for the time being.
His son, get him back on his son. Ask who he is, what his name is…
The static consumed the voice to Bosco's relief, and he streamlined his focus to solving this man's mystery.
"Who is your son, sir? I can't bring him to you if I don't know who he is or where to find him."
"You…" the man stated as an epiphany appeared to enlighten him, "You're her son. You're the cop!"
Bosco hadn't planned on divulging that information, but he wasn't going to deny it and risk setting off the lunatic and his weapon.
He nodded, "Yes, so I can get your son, wherever he is. I can help you."
"YOU'RE the bastards that TOOK him from me! And now you want to HELP me?!" his voice continued to raise throughout his tirade, and Bosco could feel his entire body shutting down against the vicious stimuli.
"I didn't take your son anywhere, sir," Bosco gripped the doorframe tighter as a wave of nausea distracted him for a brief second. Focusing, he continued his plea of innocence, "I don't know your son."
The man shook his head rapidly, tears starting to form in his own eyes, "NO! He was coming back to get me! He wouldn't leave me here. You bastards must have found him, arrested him… I WANT MY SON BACK!"
Bosco's brow creased in confusion. 'What the hell is this guy talking about?' he mentally questioned.
Keep him talking, Boscorelli. We're getting ready to send you some back-up.
"NO!" Bosco half yelled, the man jumping a little in surprise. "Uh… No, I mean, I didn't arrest your son.
I'm sure that he's out there, sir. We'll find him, but we need a name."
"He wouldn't leave me here…" the man appeared to be losing it and Bosco took the opportunity to advance one step closer towards his terrified mother.
"You move one more inch and I swear, neither of you will live to see tomorrow." The command wasn't screamed, but rather stated quietly as the man ran a shaky hand through his hair. The calmness in his words scared Bosco beyond any other empty threat he had been at the receiving end of in the past, and a shiver ran up his spine because he knew this guy wasn't kidding. They're never kidding when they're that calm. He meant every word. He was willing to follow through.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Bosco tried to match his voice to the level in which the man had previously spoken.
"What's your son's name?" he felt his good knee getting weak and he silently begged his body for a few more minutes of strength.
"James. James Polarie."
The name struck Bosco. He had heard it before, and he wondered if he had, indeed, arrested this fellow like he had pleaded he hadn't.
We're looking into it.
For the first time, Bosco was relieved that he had the menacing little object in his ear.
"Sir, I'm sure we'll find him and bring him to you so that no one else has to get hurt. Do you know where he could be? Where can we look for him?"
"I TOLD you! He was supposed to come back and get me… We had it all planned out. This wasn't supposed to happen," he shuddered while waving the gun in a circle around him.
Bosco suddenly felt an overwhelming constriction on his chest. Dipping his chin towards his body, he fought for breath. The aching from his battered ribs consumed his desperate efforts to inhale. He heard himself gasp but couldn't quite lay calm to the noise; his body feeling like it had assumed a separate entity throughout the whole ordeal.
"Maurice?" his mother's scared whisper registered, and he fought to match his eyes with hers. Worry for her son clouding her judgment for a brief second as she attempted to free herself from the bonds that kept her from assisting him.
"DON'T MOVE! I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE!"
"Ma… don't. I'm okay… please…" he gasped, "Listen to him."
Boscorelli, we have info on James Polarie. He's with Child Services. He was involved in a car accident over a week ago. They say they can't contact his guardians.
Bosco could almost feel the pieces of the puzzle coming together. The flash of the truck barreling towards him… The kid, asking for his dad… It all made sense.
He stumbled forward as his leg gave out, causing him to crash unprotected onto the ground in front of his mother's feet.
"MAURICE!"
"DON'T MOVE!"
The voices all merged together and Bosco fought the urge to empty the few contents of his stomach, swallowing in vain as he tried to regain any form of strength that could help make this nightmare diminish.
He heard the crack of a chair falling over, his mother's paternal senses controlling her actions as she tried to help her struggling son.
"I SAID, DON'T MOVE!!!"
Everything molded together in a blurry package of rage and fear, the coldness of metal against his face; the familiar feeling of the round, quarter-sized tip of a loaded weapon pressed hard into his cheek.
All Bosco could do was wait… This was his end, he was sure of it. He fought for his last words, a symbol of what he stood for and what he believed. With his last source of energy, he pushed out the words he needed to be heard.
"I love you, Ma…"
TBC.
