Captivity- A Shawn Mendes Story

Chapter One

Beep beep beep. 

Ugh, the alarm. Is it 6am already? I groan, pulling my covers up over my head. I suppose this is what I get for having a high-profile job in a big city. Being a detective at the NYPD definitely has its ups and downs. 

I graduated high school three years early at age 16, which sounds insane, and it most definitely was. I graduated from Ohio University this year, one of the best forensic science programs in the states. It's pretty hectic, but I love what I do. The thrill of being on case after case hasn't gotten old yet, and I don't know if it ever will.

"Chel!!!" Kaylee, my roommate, screams from downstairs. I've known her since freshman year of college, and we both decided to move to New York City about six months ago. Her dad helps pay for the apartment, which is pretty much the only reason I still put up with her. "I'm going to hot yoga and I can't find my key, so can you lock up when you leave?" she shrieks again. Yeah... hot yoga at 6am. That's Kaylee for you.

"Got it," I grumble, opening my eyes a fraction. My room is relatively dark, but I can still see one poster across the room. Shawn Mendes. I went to see his Handwritten tour in Baltimore nearly three years ago. Kaylee teases me for still having the poster up, but I'm never taking that thing down.

I decide to finally get up out of bed and hop into the shower. There's a guy at work I kinda have my eye on, so  I wanna look good. His name is Adam, and he just transferred from another bureau. After I dress, I glance at the clock in the kitchen and gasp. It's already 7:30. I totally missed the subway! I groan in frustration as I pull on my jacket and boots. A taxi will have to do today.

    I quickly rush to the elevator and then out into the lobby. I give a brief wave to the receptionist, then run outside. Thankfully, there are always a few cabs waiting near the entrance of my apartment, as there's a hotel right across the street. I hail one of them, and climb inside.

    "Midtown police department, 54th street please," I breathe, rooting around in my bag for a lip balm. The cabbie nods, pulling away from the curb. The first few chords of There's Nothing Holdin' Me Back play quietly over the radio, and I hum and tap my foot along. I bought this song a few months back, and I still love it just as much. 

    In what surprisingly feels like almost no time, we're pulling up to the building. I thank the cab driver and throw a twenty dollar bill at him. I hate being late, but it happens every morning. What can I say? It's what I'm best at. Well, besides my job.

    I really wish I had a chai latte right now, but there's no time to waste. It's already 7:55. I push open the glass doors of the station, bombarded immediately by the bustle inside. Strange. It's never this busy so early.... Unless there's a big case that's come in. I breathe in eagerly, beginning to weave my way through the accumulating crowd just beyond the lobby.

    "Ross!" I suddenly hear a yell from across the room. It's the police chief, Sandra Buchanan. She hurries over to me, towering over my five-foot-two height. "We've been waiting for nearly half an hour. I'll remind you that this is a serious position, and I've got no time for a detective who can't make it to work in time," she hisses, grabbing my arm.

    "I'm so sorry chief Buchanan. Won't happen again." I wince. This lady has one seriously strong grip. I wasn't even that late. I expect her to deposit me at my desk and leave me to collect myself, but she leads me right past it and towards conference room three. Conference room three is reserved for confidential cases and authorized personnel only. Must be something major... maybe a bank robbery or some other heist. I hate to say it, but hopefully something exciting like an armed robbery or a homicide. It's been a little slow around here lately.

    Inside, the long rectangular table is full, and several people I don't recognize are huddled in the front of the room. A projector is set up near them, a blank white square cast against the board. I get a few skeptical stares from others sitting at the table.

    "Rookie detective," Buchanan explains to them, pushing me into a seat towards the back of the room. "This one might be a good learning experience for her." The chief hustles to the front of the room, shoving people aside as she goes. 

    "Alright, people, we've got a major case that's just come in this morning," she begins. "As you'll notice, we're in conference room three, so this information stays within this group. It's been requested that we don't release this to the press yet, and we'd like to keep it that way until the situation is under control."

    No press? That means this must be something big. And what did chief mean when she said this would be a good learning experience for me?

    Chief Buchanan takes a deep breath, looking out over the room.

    "Singer-songwriter and social media personnel Shawn Mendes has been reported missing from his hotel in the area for over 48 hours. We have reason to believe this is a kidnapping, and a possible hostage situation," she says. My heart starts to race. Shawn, kidnapped? And I'm on the case?