Happy Superbowl Sunday everyone! Not rooting for any team . . . except for Team One! :D I have a fancomic up for Flashpoint, it's about Sam Braddock in his military years, I'm posting the link on my profile if you would like to see it. I tried making this chapter as long as possible without ruining the cliffie.
The SRU burst into action as the "hot call" alarm echoed down the hallways, alerting everyone to a new emergency.
"Team One, gear up," Winnie said into the PA system microphone as the alarm blared through the station, "Shots fired at Sullivan and Spadina."
The team geared up in a flurry of activity, vests were donned, guns were checked, loaded and rechecked. The check list was ran off, this time, though, when the word, "Rookie?" was shouted, Leah was pushed along by Wordy.
"Check!" he said with a grin, as he and Leah stepped into one of the sleek, black Suburbans.
"Alright Winnie, feed me on the fly," Greg said as he ran to the passenger's seat of the Suburban driven by Ed.
"Copy that Sarge," Winnie said from her desk in headquarters.
The trucks screamed out of the garage, speeding down the highway with sirens blaring. Greg and Ed's truck was in the lead, he listened carefully while Winnie gave them as much information as she had on the incident.
"Sounds like the subject went up to the man and shot him," she said as she heard the 911 reports.
"Random act of violence?" Ed asked to his sergeant as they turned onto a road.
Greg's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he heard the witness reports, "If this is a spree shooter, we're going to have to stop him as soon as possible."
"Copy that," Ed answered as they pulled up to the site, an ambulance was just pulling away and a crowd of people stood by, some in a state of shock, others taking photos with their cell phone cameras. Police were working to cordon off the area so crime scene investigators could get there.
An officer ran up to Greg as he exited his vehicle, "What have we got?" Greg asked the constable as his team gathered around him.
"Witnesses say they saw a young male, approximately twenty, walk up to the victim, Tim Raker, they shared a few words, the male pulled a gun and shot Raker in the chest," the constable said, "the subject ran north on Spadina."
"Sounds like it was personal," Greg noted, he opened his mouth to give directions to his team when he was interrupted by shouts.
A commotion broke out as several burly construction guys tried to run up to Greg, they were quickly held back by the police officers securing the scene, "What are you doing here?" one of them yelled, "Find that son of a bitch who shot Tim!"
"Jules," Greg said, motioning for her to follow him as they walked up to the group of construction men, Ed motioned for the rest of the team to gather around him as he barked orders.
"Tim a buddy of yours?" Greg asked the crew.
The guy who shouted nodded, "He's the foreman. We go back."
"Tim having any problems lately with anyone?" Jules questioned, she noted the changing expressions on the men's faces, most of them were not happy.
The shouter glared, "You think he's involved with a gang or something? Listen lady, he's a good man, he wouldn't get involved with any gangs or crime. He has a girlfriend for goodness sakes, I-"
"Wait," another worker interrupted the rant, "Remember he was talking about the stalker a few weeks back Johnny?" he said suddenly.
"Stalker?" Greg asked, they were finally getting somewhere.
The worker shrugged, "He mentioned it a couple weeks ago, said that the police couldn't do anything and he was really worried for his girl."
"His girl?" Greg asked, "She have a name?"
"Uhh, Diane," the man snapped his fingers, trying to remember the last name, "Diane . . ."
"Singer," Johnny finished for his co-worker, nodding, "Diane Singer, I remember now, Tim said that some creep was following her, leaving threatening notes on their door step."
"Alright, thank you," Greg said as they turned and left the group of construction workers, "Winnie, get me all you can on a stalking case, complainant's name is Diane Singer."
"Copy," Winnie's voice crackled over the radio.
"Sarge, if he's escalated and he's looking for Diane," Jules began.
"I know," Greg said, shaking his head, it was not going to end well if the stalker had escalated. The stalker knew where Diane was, unfortunately, the SRU didn't, "Winnie, get me a cell phone number for Diane Singer."
He walked down the streets, looking no more suspicious than a worker enjoying his break, the gun tucked safely in his waistband. He smirked as he made his way to a corner, the competition was out of the way, he could have Diane.
Finally, he stopped and looked around at where he was, noting the street names and the bus stop at the intersection, he took a seat on the bench, checked his watch, and waited.
Diane walked on the bus, furtively glancing around for anyone suspicious on the vehicle, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. A family sat in the back, their kids bouncing up and down in the seats impatiently, next to them, a couple of tourists relaxed on the bus, a few shopping bags gathered beside them. And near the front, two soldiers sat on the seat that ran along the side of the bus, just taking in the sights and sounds of the city they called home.
Diane sat in the bench across from the soldiers and the bus pulled away from the stop, driving towards the man with the gun in his waistband. Diane's phone vibrated, but she couldn't hear it over the shouts of the little kids and it was buried deep within her purse.
'Damn,' Greg thought as he tried Diane's cell once more, with the same results, "She's not answering her cell," he said as he sat in the passenger's seat of the truck once more.
Winnie's voice came over the radios, "Sarge, I've got the detective working Diane's case on the phone now," she said.
"Alright, thanks Winnie, patch me through," Greg said as they traveled towards Diane's house, the detective came on loud and clear through Greg's headset.
"Detective Simmons, this is Sergeant Parker with the SRU, I understand you're working on a stalking case involving Diane Singer?" Greg asked.
Detective Simmons was sitting at his desk, talking to the sergeant, "Yes sir, we got a break in the case today, apparently a neighbor saw our stalker the other day. We've got a description but no one in the neighborhood knows him. Why do you want to know?"
"Your stalker just shot a man and now he's running on the streets of Toronto, looking for Diane," Greg said, he heard a whoosh of breath from the other end of the line.
Simmons sighed, "I've investigated over twenty stalking cases this past year, I've never seen any as bad as this one."
"Alright, thanks Detective," Greg said, sighing heavily.
"And Sergeant?" Simmons added his voice full of something close to worry.
Greg nodded as the SUV sped down the highway, "Yeah?"
" This man is mentally unstable," Simmons began, taking a deep breath, " . . . if and when he cracks, it's not going to be pretty."
"Thank you detective," Greg stated and the line went dead, he sighed, they needed to find Diane and fast. He tried her cell phone once again, "C'mon, pick up the phone," he said.
There was a lull in the noise in the bus and Diane heard the buzzing noise of her vibrating phone, she picked up, "Hello?"
Relief flooded through Greg's veins but he kept his voice calm and professional, "Hello, is this Diane Singer?"
"Uh, yes, who is this?" Diane asked as the bus pulled up to a stop, a thin young man walked on, paying the fare and walking up to her seat, he sat next to her. He kept giving her furtive glances, one of his hands in his jacket pocket, seemingly rubbing something.
"This is Sergeant Greg Parker, I'm with the police," Greg said, "Where are you right now?"
Diane's voice sounded surprised and a little confused, "I'm on the bus, Dundas Street . . . why?" she was confused, not understanding why she was getting this call, part of her thought it was a prank and she should hang up the phone before the guy got any more information.
"On the next stop, I need you to get off the bus," Greg explained calmly, "Your boyfriend was shot by the man who's been stalking you for the past few weeks. We think he may be coming after you."
"Oh my gosh," Diane started, her mouth open in surprise, "Is he okay?"
The bus came to another stop, Diane started to get up, her ear still to the phone, she felt someone grab her wrist, "Wait," the thin man next to her said, looking up at her, he pulled out the necklace with his other hand, letting her go.
Diane's eyes widened at the sight of the necklace, she gaped, "Who are you? Why do you . . . oh my god," she said in surprise as she took a few steps back. The stalker's hand reached back to the gun tucked in his waistband, the male soldier's eyes narrowed, he began to stand . . .
The man pulled a gun, "Nobody move!" he yelled, pointing the gun at the soldier, who slowly sat back down, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture.
Greg heard the commotion over his cell, "Diane? Diane, is everything okay?" he asked, worry seeping into his normally calm voice. Ed looked over at him, his eyes narrowing.
"Hang up the phone! Hang it up now!" the stalker yelled, pointing the gun at Diane now, he watched as she silently lowered the phone, closing it up and terminating the call.
Greg heard the line go silent, he tried the cell phone again with no luck, he hit the dashboard of the Suburban in frustration.
Meanwhile, on the bus, a silence had fallen, the passengers gagged by the fear of angering the gunman further. The man was still pointing the gun at Diane, a small smile creeping across his thin face, his shoulders shaking in apparent laughter.
"You really thought you could blow me off as someone not worth loving?" the stalker grinned, a spine-chilling and sinister sneer, his eyes stayed emotionless, dead, "I thought we had a connection Diane, a real one, I thought we were soul mates."
"What are you talking about?" Diane asked, her voice quavering as she looked down the barrel of the gun, "Who are you?"
"You don't remember me? From the coffee shop? December fifth, last year, I remember it like it was yesterday," the stalker's eyes seemed to be lost in a distant memory, "The way you smiled at me when I walked by, I knew we were meant to be together from the very beginning."
The soldier glanced at the stalker's form, there were tons of openings, he could easily take the gunman down, but not without the risk of him firing off a shot, a shot that could hit a civilian. He sat and waited for his chance.
As if she had read his mind, the female soldier whispered, "Easy Brent, not now," she placed a hand on his arm, as if cautioning him.
The driver meanwhile, had stopped the bus in surprise, he glanced up at the gunman with a fearful expression, impatient drivers behind him honked their car horns at the sudden stop.
The stalker snapped out of his reverie as he glared and pointed the gun at the driver, the weapon visibly shaking in his tight grasp, "Keep driving!" he yelled, stepping forward, "And no funny business or I'll kill everyone on this bus!"
The bus began rolling once more, the driver clenching the wheel so tight, his knuckles were white. The occupants of the bus were silent but looked at each other with the same glint of fear and panic in their eyes.
Alright, next chapter, hopefully in a week, depending on my homework situation. I won't blame you if you can't sleep after reading about the stalker . . . I could barely sleep myself . . . the characters I come up with *shakes head*.