Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Worst Case Scenario

TW: Muslim slurs used once, another warning will appear before it.

John's POV

We'd gotten into a cab mere minutes after the call. "Jesus Christ, a bomb?" I breathed, terror and adrenaline already flooding through my veins.

"I knew it would escalate, but I miscalculated. I hadn't thought..." his voice trailed off, eyes leaping about.

We were silent for the rest of the ride, guns already out and prepared for whatever was to come.

If we got out alive.

Murder and arson is one thing, but full scaled bombs and terrorist attacks... I hadn't seen things like this since my days in the military.

The cab rolled to a stop a block away from the Mosque, unable to get any closer due to the cop cars that lined the street. I hit the ground running, gun pointed to the ground as we ran up to Greg shouting orders. The Mosque was surrounded by the police, semi-automatic weapons pointed at it.

"They've got seven kids hostage along with fourteen adults. An entire Sunday school class trapped in the East classroom. We need to get in there now," Greg called, mostly to us but the others as well.

"I'm going in after the kids," I decided. "I did a lot of hostage rescues a couple years ago, I know the drill. Anyone else coming with me?"

Two more policemen joined me as we began to make our way around the back of the building. Sherlock caught my arm, clear concern in his eyes.

"Be careful. Get out if you hear anything. I love you." I nodded, squeezing his hand one last time.

"You too. I love you," I turned, following the others back around to the East side of the building. Noisy gunfire erupted from the front of be building, and more shouted orders rose from the commotion.

This wasn't just petty crime anymore. This was war, with an innocent set of kids unfairly caught on the battlefield.

I could hear crying now, the children. I held a hand up for the other two policemen to stop, jerking my head to the building. The three of us slid so that we were against the building, listening to what was happening inside.

TW: Muslim slur in next paragraph

"Oh shut your Mussie mouth, would you?" A gruff voice snapped. The crying stopped, the kid obviously terrified.

One of the Policemen, Stephen, nodded. We needed to get in there when the Skinhead wasn't. He cursed loudly from the inside, metal scraping as he picked up what was presumably a gun. From what little I could see, the man was holding a semi-automatic weapon, talking into a phone.

"You three were supposed to keep the police occuppied, and now you need my help?" He gruffly agreed and hung up. 

Scott, the other policeman and the one who had questioned Paul Stewart, nodded to me, getting ready to move.

"Just in case any of you got any ideas..." Fabric ripped before the sound of heavy boots faded. Slowly, I rasied my head to look through the window. Seven small heads were pointed to the floor, but no one else. I motioned to the others to follow as I stepped carefully to the back door. Gun raised, I slowly creaked the door open. The noise was covered by the gunfire happening in the front of the building.

Small wimpers came from the children, lined up on the carpet. All of them were on their knees, hands tied behind them, gagged at the mouth. Their legs were tied together behind them so that they couldn't stand. The oldest was maybe eight years old. A sad terror gripped my stomach as I held up my hands.