In times of emergency, in times of pain, of fear, of trauma and distress, our brain shuts down. It's a protective mechanism. It kicks in the second our bodies –our mental psyche- proves to be unable to handle the current stressor. Even though her wrists are bound to the arms of the chair, she feels her hands get clammy; there was a glisten of sweat appearing on her forehead. Her eyes were wide as she waited for the inevitable moment the scalpel will make contact with her stomach. What she felt, and what she was about to feel, no one else could possibly understand. She was physically and mentally stuck, absolutely trapped in a basement, restrained to a chair, with no plausible way to get out alone. Even if she wasn't bound to a chair, Tyler was taller, fitter, and stronger and the adrenaline he got from the thrill in his kills made him even more menacing. He lives in a black and white world; a world where everything is perfect or imperfect, fine or poor, or good or bad. There's no in-between. The perspective he has on the world he lives in, his thought process and his actions were all distorted.
This was a living nightmare. Her eyes widened even more at the sight of the scalpel's blade lightly running over her skin. It's like he's taunting her. The knife barely touched her stomach as it traced a gentle line over her abdomen. Occasionally, it prickled against her flesh, but not enough to draw blood or cause pain. The hairs on the nape of her neck rise; a cold chill sends goosebumps down her arms. The blade of the knife is slow and deliberate as he mocks her; he carefully slides it over her stomach, being very careful not to actually cut her. Erin breathed in and out, but her lungs felt tight. She felt starved for air. Her breathing hitched every time the scalpel came too close. Both are without words, both seem to be scared even though he had absolutely no reason to be. Out of that fear, he became a monster, a person completely irredeemable. It was only a matter of time before he was done playing around and actually ready to cause damage. It was only a matter of time before her entire world changed. Her heart is racing at an intense speed, her chest rising and falling as he brings the scalpel down to her stomach. It's still. He isn't moving the blade. They remain that way –for what feels like hours, but in actuality was a mere few seconds. Each second she was immersed in fear created a permanent mark on her heart.
The blade is lifted and placed against the side of her stomach. They both knew what was about to happen and she tried to scream because of it. She wanted to scream, but the inside of her mouth was dry and a gurgle of worry was all that managed to come out. Pressure is applied from the scalpel to her lower abdomen, beginning the incision along her stomach. A piercing –dying- scream finally erupts loudly in the air, filling his ears as small drops of blood drips down her stomach. She's yanking her arms, trying to move, trying to kick him away, but he doesn't stop. He draws a line with the scalpel across her stop; it's a light scratch, it barely penetrates her skin. Specks of blood line the blade of the scalpel as he lifts it up and watches as the few drops of blood drip onto his arm. He tightens his grip around the knife and slowly lowers it back down to her stomach while cries of pleas fill the walls of his basement. She's scared, so scared –completely terrified with absolute justification for her emotions.
Erin is unable to keep still, even though the restraints are keeping her down and tied to the chair, her body keeps squirming and her legs continue to kick. It forces Tyler to annoyingly pull the scalpel away. While looking into his eyes and seeing the absolute lack of remorse, fear crept back into her soul. Growing up with Voight, he always told her there was nothing to fear, but fear itself. Granted that whoever formulated that quote had obviously never been pregnant, tied to a chair in the basement of a demented psychopath wielding a scalpel millimeters above their stomach. That quote –Voight's words had played on repeat in her head, but the fear was too strong to silence, it was too powerful and overwhelming to overcome in this moment. Tyler taps the scalpel against the untouched flesh of her stomach to gain her attention, "If you keep moving, I might cut too deep and hurt your baby. Stay still. That's your last warning."
Lindsay is sweating, not because she's hot, but because she's scared. There isn't an enemy she would wish this upon. There isn't a person who would be able to handle this. Erin's brain jumps in to protect her once again. It's forcing her to imagine the good times –both past and hopefully in the future. She pictures herself laying in bed, cuddled up to her husband with a baby –who appears to be a few months old- sitting on his chest, giggling at one of the many goofy faces and noises he's making. That's supposed to be a chapter in her life, not this. She's supposed to have control over the ending of her story, not him. She's hiccupping tears and trying to take deep breaths so she can keep still. Even though this doesn't look like it's going to end well, she has to give her baby a fighting chance. If being still does it, she has to try her hardest.
Erin tells herself that she isn't scared; she's not afraid even though everything she's doing proves against that. Her limbs are tight. Her appetite is gone. She's sweating, her pupils appear to be dilated, and any signs of a smile are long gone. The fear that she desperately tells herself she doesn't have is paralyzing, it's affecting her ability to think logically and rationally. Lindsay wanted to run as far away from him as possible, but she also wanted to beat the shit out of him, and honestly if either were plausible right now, either would suffice. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to focus her mind and body on remaining still and silent.
"Open your eyes," he demands, not moving until the order is followed. She doesn't listen though. Erin shakes her head and refuses until his hand angrily grips her chin to angle her head in his direction, "I don't like to repeat myself. If you want your kid to have the slightest chance of surviving, you will open your eyes. You're trying to stall, but let me tell you this, if this scalpel," he holds it up in front of her face, "does not make contact with your stomach in the next three minutes, I'll say forget saving the baby and I'll start on your eyes. I don't need them to be open for that." She opens her eyes and keeps them open, "That's a good girl. You have my word that once you pass away, I'll take good care of your baby."
Her eyes widen, "No, you…you're going to give my baby to Jay."
"No," he takes a seat on the stool, holding the scalpel above her lower stomach.
"Please," she cries out, clenching her hands into fists, "I'm doing as you said. I'm following your order. Please! Give my baby to her father."
"I'll keep her and raise her into perfection; I'll raise her to be something you're not, the perfect woman," his words haunt her and she opens her mouth to rebut, but he immediately cuts her off, "This isn't open for discussion. That's the final word. You won't have any way of stopping me once you die so save your breath and use it to scream."
The color drained from her face at the thought of her child, her baby, her infant daughter being raised by this madman. Her face is as white as a sheet, her expression is frozen, her forehead sweating and her chest rising and falling with each struggled breath she takes as the scalpel gets closer and closer to her stomach. Even if she wanted to talk, she was unable to speak, her hands clenched, white knuckles appearing and her body was incapacitated with fear as the scalpel made contact with her flesh. He's been gently sliding the blade of the scalpel over her stomach, creating a white line of prickled skin where he plans to make the deeper incision. It doesn't hurt. The pain on the side of her face aches more than that, but suddenly, the pain hits. Tear after tear rolls down, stinging the wounded side of her face. A scream tears into her; her hands unclench and grip the handle of the chair as her eyes feel like they're physically rolling into the back of her head. It's a pain like she's never experienced before; she was scared of having a C-section, and now she's having one without medication at the hands of a serial killer.
Tyler pulls the scalpel away; her screams remain -if not increase in volume- at the shock and the pain at what just occurred. His gloves covered in blood, not as much as she expected though. He barely made a dent. It's a simple cut that would probably require over twenty stitches; it's not deep enough to kill her or get her baby out. The pain is still immense though. It's bad enough to cause her to pass out from it. He's forced to rise from his seat and gently slap his hand repeatedly against the side of her face; he does it until she wakes up. He needs her to be awake for this. Erin feels forced to open her eyes, and every natural body movement her body processes and acts out on is put on hold, she has to mimic what is expected because her brain completely unregisters from the situation. He taps her shoulder and she continues to stir awake.
She had only been out for a few seconds, but she's out of it. She's quickly reminded of her surroundings and of her current situation. She's aware that none of it was a nightmare. Her muscles are tense. However long she has been in Tyler's basement is unknown to her, every second and minute that ticked by felt like an eternity. Her legs are starting to fall asleep; she shifts them to wake them up. Erin briefly closes her eyes and sighs, "Can I," she licks her dry lips, "can I have my baby? Can you hand her to me? I want to see her." She's delirious. She thinks her baby had been born and she's actually averting her eyes around the room in search for her. She's tired and weak and through an exhausted breath, she whispers, "Where is my baby? Is she okay? I want to see my baby. Where is she?"
Tyler uses the scalpel to point towards her stomach, "Still in there. Look Erin, I need you to stay still and stay awake for this. Be strong."
It wasn't over. It wasn't even close to being over. She starts to silently cry again. Her breathing gets caught in her throat; the fear made it feel like someone was choking her. She could barely get in a breath of air without struggling. Erin watches as Tyler grabs a rag to wipe his scalpel clean and she breaks down even harder. Her shoulders are shaking. Her heart is racing. All she wants to do is curl up into a ball and wait for Voight and Halstead to save her –but they couldn't. No one is here, but them. She's alone. A gurgled cry erupts and it clears her throat to allow more sobs to fill the room. There is always a moment in times like this where you realize this is possibly the end. She didn't know how far the team was or even if they were on their way, but regardless, she was running out of time. Erin can't even remember ever feeling this scared in her life. She feels a contraction hit, everything that occurred has only happened in the last ten minutes. It felt longer, it seemed longer, but it was only ten minutes –the ten longest minutes in her life. She grips the arms of the chair and through a strangled breath, she pleads, "Tyler, please, it isn't too late to call me an ambulance!"
Her phone rings again and instead of responding to her plea, he ignores it. This was at least the fifteenth time it has rung and finally, he hears it fizzle out and die due to low battery. He didn't even need another reason to mock and taunt her. While keeping his hand gripped around the scalpel, he walks over to the counter to grab her phone, "Look," he lifts it up and wiggles it in front of her, "it's dead. It's gone. No more calls from that husband of yours." She's too distracted by the strong contraction to respond. With the band of the head restraint pressing against her forehead, she struggles to lean forward, "Tyler," she says through labored breaths, "I have the urge to push. I need a hospital. I need to push."
"No," he approaches her stomach, "I intend to take the baby out another way."
"I can just naturally deliver," she pleads; her entire face red and sweaty, "Let me just push."
"No, this is more fun and you should trust me."
She feels forced to tug at the restraints. They don't loosen at all and as a response, an animalistic grunt of pain is exclaimed. She wanted to stop pushing, more for the fact that she's only eight months pregnant, the longer the baby stays inside, the higher the chance she has at surviving. However, the stress, the fear, the fall down the stairs had all played a role in her pre-term labor. It all caused for her water to break. The fear she has of her predicament tightens her chest, it dries her mouth, it silences her voice, it contracts her muscles and it fills her eyes with dread. The fear is unexplainable. It's more than the fear of being in a dark place and seeing slight movement from an unknown figure in the corner of your eye. It's more than being lost and unable to find solace. It's a fear that musters up and reveals the desperation and horror in a scream; it reveals the panic and fright behind her eyes –the pure, unadulterated trepidation. She hears his warning, she sees the threat in his eyes, but it doesn't take away the urge to push. Erin feels herself naturally pushing until his hand angrily grips beneath her chin, "You need to stop."
"I can't," she admits in one breath; it's taking every part of her not to push this baby out, "You don't understand. I physically can't stop the baby from coming."
Tyler notices he barely made an impact on her stomach. There's a long scratch, showing how he started lightly cutting into her flesh, but it was barely noticeable besides the droplets of blood. He barely made it through the first layer of skin. He's nowhere near the placenta; he's nowhere near the actual baby. He'll have to carve in. Tyler goes towards his tools deeming the scalpel too thin and weak to actually cut her stomach open. Erin is forced to watch him search through a drawer of tools for something stronger and sharper that will actually get the job done. That fear that she's been so focused on is still present, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She's not allowed to be scared when she needs to be brave for her baby. She's not permitted to show her anxiety and the fear that continually grows in her heart. Whether her daughter is here or not, she's someone's mama. She's someone's protector. She's the guardian, the defender, the parent of someone innocent and defenseless who is not even here to defend herself.
She wants to cradle her stomach. She needs to assure her daughter that mom will find a way out of this; she doesn't know how, but if there is any reason for her not to give up, it's the baby she's carrying. Tyler finds the tool needed –it's a saw, a fucking saw. He brings it to the sink and begins cleaning it as nonchalantly as one would clean dishes. A scalpel she had a chance of surviving, there's no way she can survive being sawed apart. Whatever fear she tried to hide is obvious now. Erin is hyperventilating, twisting and yanking at the restraints around her wrists. Each second in time seems to drag out. Her breathing becomes erratic; every breath she takes is deep and shallow, almost as if it's possibly her last. However, no matter how much she desperately wants to, no matter how easy it would be to, she can't give up. She can't because this isn't just about her; it's about Hank, it's about Jay…and it's about her baby. Her baby who didn't deserve any of this, an innocent child who didn't choose her parents or the world she will inevitably be born into, this was not her fault. And she deserved a fighting chance.
That fighting chance seems to be closer than she expected when they both hear a loud knock at the front door. Their eyes instantly meet and before she's able to drop her jaw and release the loudest, bloodcurdling scream imaginable, he drops the saw and races to throw his hand over her mouth. With all his strength, he holds his large hand over her mouth and pushes down to guarantee her silence. She's squirming, fidgeting and trying to make as many noises as possible, but suddenly the knocking stops. Her eyes widen in fear; they couldn't have possibly given up. There's no more knocking and Tyler draws his hand slowly away from her mouth, lets it trail down her neck, down her chest before resting upon her stomach. He reaches over her and grabs the scalpel off the counter. He smiles and seconds before he's able to take his next action, they hear a loud crash. The front door is kicked in.
Tyler's hand is back over her mouth as they hear feet walking on the floor above them. The floorboards are creaking upstairs as they attempt to tiptoe into his house. Her eyes avert around the room, his grip over her mouth tightens and he feels forced to hold the scalpel against her throat. He's willing to do anything to guarantee her silence. As they searched the floor above, West realized he needed to think quickly on his feet. He's debating what to do first, either the baby or her eyes. He only has time to do one. Being close to capture sends a rush of adrenaline down his spine, it's invigorating and absolutely energizing. That feeling though is cut short from the painful sensation of her teeth biting down onto his hand. He instinctively pulls his hand away to rub it as her mouth opens to shout, "Down here! I'm down here!" Out of anger, he backhands her. The impression of her teeth seeded into the side of his hand.
With the scalpel still in the opposite hand, he rushes up to her face, deciding to focus on her eyes. She doesn't stop screaming. She shouts and hollers until the door is busted in and the team raids down the stairs and into the basement. Slowly, the team spreads out, surrounding him as the blade of the scalpel hovers above the injured side of her face. The outline has already been drawn; he just needs to trace it until he loosens it enough to claw her eyes out.
"Get away from her!" Detective Halstead draws his weapon and aims it towards Tyler.
Dawson begins moving towards the right of him, "We will shoot you!" He's looking for a weakness, a way to take on Tyler without shooting.
"Step away!" Burgess demands, finger trembling and hovering above the trigger.
Hank seethes impatiently, "Drop the weapon!" No obvious panic or worry on his face. He has confidence that this will end one of two ways, either Tyler leaving in a body bag or in handcuffs.
There's a silent stare down in the room. If given the order, Halstead would shoot on sight. He was ready. His itching trigger finger anticipating the moment he can end this. Tyler incoherently mumbles something as the blade remains angled above her left eye. Shooting is too big of a risk. Halstead didn't want to take the chance and give West the opportunity to shove that blade into her eye. His team, his buddies were watching his wife's back, judging the situation based off their objective training. Jay couldn't. His eyes stayed on Erin; he couldn't take them off of her. The pain he feels for his wife is all in his eyes. He can tell she's in pain and he would give every part of him to relieve her of it. And she is in pain. Between the occasional contractions, the injury to the side of her face, and the cuts to her stomach, Erin is in a lot of pain. She needs a hospital. She needs a doctor. She needs pain medication.
Burgess soon becomes distracted by Erin's presence. She hears Tyler, Voight and Dawson sharing words, but she's too absorbed by her surroundings. The team sees the amount of blood on the floor. They see the alignment of jars and party beads. Every piece of evidence needed to convict him is all within reaching distance. As her eyes scan the row of jars, she notices hers. It says her name and it's empty. Voight's spots Erin's jar; it's opened and empty, waiting for whatever body part he was preparing to take. Kim zones back into the conversation to hear Tyler have the audacity to play innocent; his words fill with confidence, "The only reason you solved this case is because I wanted you to. I let you solve it." The scalpel is adjusted in his hand and that's when Erin's eyes meet those of Jay, "I'm going to warn you all to stay back."
One tear escapes from Lindsay's eye and trickles down her cheek, "My water broke."
"My tattoo," Burgess suddenly shouts, lowering her weapon, "The jar that's empty with my name on it…it was for my tattoo."
Tyler is forced to look over his shoulder at the jar, "You're correct."
"You want it?" She holsters her weapon and begins unstrapping her vest, "If you want it, come take it. It's yours." The team catches on to her distraction. Tyler won't be able to resist temptation; it's unfinished business. It's an imperfection that he must perfect. Kim tosses her vest to the side and slowly lifts her shirt to show Tyler her tattoo –the scar from his earlier attack is clearly evident and as she takes a step closer her eyes sneakily avert towards Ruzek beside her, "Watch my back." He nods. She didn't even have to ask.
Jay uses the distraction, the open opportunity, to holster his weapon and run up to Erin's side. Tyler's staring at Burgess, but the scalpel remains above Erin's eye. Halstead has to be careful. Any quick movement could spook him and send the blade through her face. Lindsay is relieved when her husband reaches her side; she remains quiet as his fingers fumble to unstrap the restraint around her head. He loosens the wrist restraint closest to him just enough for her to slide her arm free. Tyler is completely absorbed and distracted by the butterfly tattoo inked into the side of Kim's stomach. Jay uses the opportunity to grip his wrist, the wrist that holds the scalpel above his wife. West's head whips in his direction and he uses his strength to try and push the blade down through her eye. It's strength against strength. Jay isn't using his dominant hand and it starts to show when the blade gets closer to Erin. However Voight steps in and kicks Tyler's feet from beneath him, causing for the man to fall to his knees. No detective rushes to his aid. Jay is too focused on his wife; both hands of his cup her face and he leans forward to press kisses around her cheeks. His hand is gentle against the injured side of her face and his eyes water at the immediate relief he has in seeing her alive.
At some point, he doesn't even notice, but Burgess unties her other wrist restraint. His hands remain cupping her face and he refuses to let go. His lips can barely stop making contact with hers. Tears mix into the kiss; breaths of relief fill the air. He feels her suddenly pull away and he's worried. Her hand flies to the top of her stomach and he notices; it's blood speckled on her flesh and blood stained into the fabric of her pants and her sweater. Jay steps back, his heart figuratively dropping at the thought, at the possibility that his baby was gone. They got here in time to save her, but it may have already been too late for their daughter. Erin sees the look in his face and it scares her. It must look really bad if he's looking at her with sympathy in his eyes. He has to be strong for her right now; he needs to be positive and after swallowing the fear that seemed to seep its way into his being, he approaches her, "We called an ambulance before busting in the house. It should be here any minute."
Erin is speechless. All she is able to do is nod and attempt to sit up, but the second her body rises to an upright position, another contraction hits. She manages to hide it as Jay and Antonio help her up and onto her feet. It was one thing to attempt to hide it when she was lying down, but standing makes it feel worse. She tried to hide the contraction so Jay wouldn't worry, but her legs give out and both Halstead and Dawson grab her arms before she's able to fall to her knees. She clenches her stomach as Jay stoops down behind her, "Where is the ambulance Jay?" She cries out, curling up into a fetal position, "What's taking it so long? They have sirens for a reason! Why aren't they here yet?!"
His hand rubs against her lower back, "They'll be here any minute. Just focus on your breathing and the baby," he sits behind her.
"It's too early!" She whines; the side of her face lay on the floor, her knees bent and her arms circling around her stomach; she's curled into a ball, "I'm only 35 weeks. That's pre-term labor Jay! The baby is not even considered full term until at least 37 weeks!"
"You might not even be in labor," he replies, keeping his voice gentle while he continues to rub circles into her back.
"My water broke, I'm having contractions, my back hurts," her voice becomes less strained as the contraction dies down, "I have pelvic pressure…lots of it. And I'm pretty sure there was vaginal discharge in all of this blood," Erin's voice breaks in the end; "…all of this blood Jay."
Tyler's presence is overlooked by Jay and Erin. They're too fixated on Erin's pre-term labor. They don't hear him, or at least they don't pay him any mind as he continues to voice his innocence. He's on his knees, wrists handcuffed behind his back. Voight is pacing back and forth in front of him and the remainder of the team watches on in fear. They didn't know what they were about to witness tonight. Hank suddenly grips the back of Tyler's head and tilts his head up, "You made a big mistake," Voight shoves him down to the ground.
With his hands cuffed behind his back, Tyler lands on his stomach and face. He rolls onto his side and coughs, refusing to give in and admit anything, he asserts, "I did nothing wrong," his eyes fall to Erin who is in a cradled position a few feet away from him, "They all deserved it," his eyes avert towards Burgess, "They're all less than perfect. I did nothing wrong." He sticks by his words and Hank withdraws the weapon from his holster. He lowers himself to one knee and shoves the barrel of the gun beneath Tyler's chin.
Another contraction hits, Erin is forced to uncurl and bend her legs. With each contraction, the urge to push came back, each stronger than the last. Her hands grip the top of her knees and her head is resting in Jay's lap. He's running his fingers through her hair as he coaches her through this next contraction. Erin is sweating; her eyes wide open and scanning the room, "Where are the paramedics? If I have to ask again, I swear!" Lindsay's unveiled threat sends Atwater to holster his weapon and head upstairs to wait for the paramedics. He needed to give them a heads up and lead them to where Erin was so she can be transported to Chicago Med as soon as possible. Lindsay is doing the useless labored breaths she learned in childbirth class while keeping her hands on her knees; the urge to push is gone and the contraction soon passes, leaving her to fall back and rest her head back on Jay's lap, "That's a lot of blood on the ground and stained in my clothes," the delirium causes for her to actually chuckle, surprising everyone in the room, "That's a lot of blood," her mouth begins losing color, "Hey Jay," he looks down at her as he continues to run his hand through her hair, "If it comes down to it, save the baby."
This earns the attention of everyone in the room. Burgess grabs her vest off the ground and goes to take a seat on the bottom stair. Her eyes are ghosted over and she's in a far off daze. Ruzek takes a seat next to her to be of comfort; her head leans against his shoulder, she appreciates the comfort. Hank remains on his knees next to Tyler's figure; his own eyes blank, the look resembles the look he held when he killed his son's killer. It's a look that no one can break him out of. Hearing Erin's plea only deepens it. Jay leans forward and kisses the top of her forehead, "It won't. It's not going to come to that."
"I want you to promise me," her hand comes up to cradle the side of his face.
"I can't make that promise," he admits honestly; tears welling in his eyes and one soon falls onto her head, "I love you. I can't do that because I love you."
"I need you to promise me," she whispers, cradling both hands around her tummy, "I won't be able to live with myself or with you if my baby dies," if he didn't see the tears falling down her face, he wouldn't even know she was crying, "especially if there was something you could have done to save her."
"You have to fight Erin." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "Don't make me have to make that decision."
"Don't make me have to live childless."
"Erin-"
She pushes herself into an upright position and turns to face him, "Either we both survive or she survives. Jay, I can't live without my baby."
"Erin don't-"
"No Jay listen to me," she reaches out and covers his hand with hers, "When Nadia was killed, the pain I felt over her death was indescribable."
He chimes in, "And you overcame that."
"That was a friend Jay! Nadia was my friend and I'm not trying to diminish that relationship or her death, but she was a FRIEND! That's all!" She argued, grabbing his hand and setting it upon her stomach, "And this is my baby we're talking about, MY BABY! OUR BABY! And she's not kicking." She feels his hand rub around her stomach in search of a kick, "I haven't even met her yet and she might be gone. If she's not okay, I won't be able to forgive myself. I won't be able to overcome this. I won't be able to walk back in that house, go back to work…I won't even be able to look at you. How can I go on without my baby Jay?!"
The hand that was once on her stomach rises to cup and caress the uninjured side of her face, "We won't have to find out. If our daughter is half as strong as her mother, she'll pull through. You're going to go to the hospital, the doctors are going to save you and baby Halstead and then when you get the all clear, we're going to take our daughter home."
She repeats the last half of his sentence, "We're going to take our daughter home."
"Speak it into existence."
She repeats it again, "We're going to take our daughter home."
"Keep saying it," he whispers, noticing as two paramedics are led down the stairs by Atwater, "You need to stay calm. Stress isn't good for the baby."
"We're going to take our daughter home."
He smiles the second she notices the paramedics, "That's right."
"We're going to take our daughter home."
Erin continues to say it over and over again; she says it until she starts to believe. When she stops verbally saying it, she mentally thinks it. The paramedics lay her back and place her onto the gurney with Halstead and Atwater's help. They give her a brief scan and analysis to make sure she's stable enough to be transported to the hospital. A fetal monitor is in the ambulance; they want to move her and with Atwater and Dawson's help, they carry the gurney towards the stairs.
"Detective," the paramedic shouts towards Halstead, "How far along is she?"
"35 weeks," Jay answers, watching as they balance Erin on the gurney and carry her up the stairs, "Please save them both. I'll be following behind the ambulance!"
For the first time since arriving to the house, Jay turns to face Tyler. He's back on his knees, hands cuffed behind his back. No remorse evident on his face. Halstead points at him, his mouth opens but no words come out. He's fuming in rage. His anger is silent. He sees Burgess sit back down on the bottom stair, crying quietly. Voight is distraught, distracted and unaware of Erin even leaving the scene. His mind and his attention remain on Tyler, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to give him a reason to shoot. The team is left alone with Tyler. Jay's fists are clenched, he's red in the face and his temper is so close to being lost. If it wasn't for Erin, Halstead would stay. He would personally see Tyler's punishment through. He's just so mad; everything Tyler put him, his wife and the team through all played through his head.
"You flirt with my wife. You try to manipulate her. You charm her. You kiss her. You toy with our relationship." Halstead growls through gritted teeth as he slowly approaches Tyler, "You killed those women. You killed Trent. You attacked Burgess. You framed and killed an innocent man! You lock my wife in this contraption," his hand waves in the direction of the restraining chair, "You try to kill her and my baby! And you have the nerve to sit there with no amount of remorse on your face." Halstead lowers himself to the ground and becomes eye-leveled with Tyler, "I have to go to the hospital to be with my wife, but this isn't over," he seethes out and doesn't tear his eyes away from West the second Voight raises his weapon and presses it against the side of Tyler's head; Jay's eyes are dark, his thoughts are racing and there is absolutely no regret in his next words, "Do it."