Lockdown

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  The gun lowered, the boy’s hands came together, and Tristan made the call. “Now!”

  * * *

  Eric’s shock was intense when suddenly four men were in the room, their automatic weapons aimed in his direction. He found himself looking at the man who’d entered first, the only one holding a handgun. I’m going to die, he thought to himself. He was supposed to feel relief, but only terror ran through him. He vaguely heard his teacher pleading over the screams. “Please don’t hurt him. Please.”

  Eric saw the intent in the warrior’s eyes. He had seen it so many times before, but his father had never held a gun. But then, frozen in place, his hands shaking, he saw the change. He didn’t recognize the look of understanding. He didn’t know why the man didn’t shoot.

  The students were rushing out the back door of the classroom. He was losing his edge. His father wasn’t going to come. They weren’t going to help him. It was just like everything else. No one cared. No one would know why he had done this. The hopelessness, the despair, flooded through him until he was drowning in it.

  Mrs. Cunningham was still there, waiting for everyone else to leave. She was watching him. She thought she knew the kind of hell he lived in, but she didn’t really know. No one would ever know. He didn’t hear any words being spoken over the roar in his head.

  “Eric, do you hear me?” A voice broke through the hazy images, the fantasy gone awry. “Listen to me, Eric. I don’t want to hurt you. Just put the gun down.”

  Eric stared up at the warrior again. He was big like his father, with muscles rippling in his arms. It wasn’t hard to transfer the hate from his father to this broad-shouldered man. He was probably just like his dad, pounding on whoever got in his way just because he could. Eric’s eyes narrowed, and he started to lift the gun. Then the words pierced through his anger.

  “Your father is dead.”

  Eric lowered his gun and shook his head, confusion building a window through the wall of fury. “You’re lying.”

  “I don’t lie.” The voice was calm, almost soothing, and the man’s dark blue eyes didn’t seem angry at all. His expression was like Mrs. Cunningham’s when she tried to make him understand, like that day she told him violence didn’t solve problems. She used to make him think about alternatives, different ideas to get out of scrapes.

  This was different. This time it was too late. In a voice laced with venom, he demanded, “How do you know my dad’s dead?”

  “The police went to your house to get him, to bring him here like you asked.” The man shook his head. “He was already dead when they got there.”

  “I wanted him to die.” Eric’s voice was low with a combination of shame and bitterness.

  “I know you did. But just because he’s dead doesn’t mean you have to die.” The man shifted, and Eric realized that the room was empty except for the four men with guns.

  With a sudden surge of bitterness, Eric flexed his hand. He lifted the gun as he spoke. “It’s too late!”

  A single shot echoed, and Eric dropped to the ground.

  * * *

  Riley watched the ambulance crew exit the building and roll the stretcher down the sidewalk. She knew it was the gunman who had been shot, but still she looked at him just to be sure. The fear that had been surging through her wouldn’t be satisfied until she saw Tristan alive and whole.

  The boy looked so young, she thought to herself, his round face covered with freckles and twisted in pain. His shirt had been cut off, and a stark white bandage covered his right shoulder. An IV was attached to his other fair-skinned arm.

  The campus was alive with activity, but Riley didn’t notice. Her entire focus was on the men walking out of the school, course participants mixing with various uniformed emergency personnel. Anxiously, she searched for the familiar sun-streaked hair and listened for that deceptively lazy western drawl. Behind her, she heard a familiar voice as the ambulance crew passed by.

  “It’s okay, Eric,” Dr. Walberg said as he approached the back of the ambulance. “Everything’s okay.”

  “They said my father’s dead.”

  “That’s right, your father’s dead,” the doctor said soothingly. “Don’t you remember? You had a gun.”

  “It was supposed to be here.” The boy’s voice was confused. “It was supposed to be where everyone could see him die. So they would all know.”

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Dr. Walberg insisted. “It’s all over. I’m going to get you the help you need.” The doctor then turned and spoke quietly to the ambulance attendant as Riley moved past them.

  Then Riley turned and saw Tristan emerge from the school. Her relief was beyond measure. She moved toward him just as he started jogging in her direction. His arms came around her, his face burrowing in the soft spot between her shoulder and her neck. The morning sun beat down on them as they stood there, an island of peace as the chaotic aftermath buzzed around them.

  The first enterprising reporters had arrived on the scene. Frantic parents were being diverted to the elementary school down the road, where they could sign out their kids. The fifteen course participants were gathered on the lawn with Brent and Seth, analyzing their involvement with the hostage situation as well as the scheduling adjustments to accommodate the unexpected live exercise.

  “How are you holding up?” Tristan finally asked, straightening so he could look at her.

  “I’m better now.” Riley took a deep breath. “Everyone’s really okay?”

  “Yeah. The kid didn’t want to hurt anyone but his father, and his father was already dead. Quinn disabled him in one shot when he tried to commit suicide by cop.”

  “Suicide by cop?”

  “You know. Point your weapon at someone who will kill you before you get the chance to shoot,” Tristan explained. “Maybe if the kid’s dad had been in the room he would have shot him, but I really don’t think that kid is a killer.”

  A deep voice interrupted. “How do you explain his parents?”

  Riley turned to see Bainbridge’s police chief standing behind her. She stepped back and turned to offer introductions. “Tristan Crowther, this is Chief Jobeson.”

  The chief reached out and shook Tristan’s hand. “You don’t think the kid shot his parents?”

  Tristan shook his head. “I was right there with him until the ambulance attendants arrived. The kid doesn’t even know about his mother yet. He’s confused and off balance, but I don’t think he killed anyone.”

  “We’ll see what the ballistic reports say,” Chief Jobeson commented, and then his eyes narrowed. “How is it that your team responded to this crisis before my office even got a call?”

  Tristan shrugged. “I suppose you could call it a lucky coincidence.” He went on to explain how they were using the high school for a training exercise and just happened to stop by when the incident began.

  The chief listened intently, finally nodding. “I’ll need to get formal statements from you and the rest of your team, but we’ll probably schedule them for later today since we have so many to do and we’ll need to start with the civilians first.”

  “That’s my commander over there. You should probably talk to him about that.” Tristan pointed at Kel, who was standing a short distance away.

  Chief Jobeson gave a curt nod. He took two steps before turning back and adding, “Thanks for your help today. I don’t think this town could handle another blow like Oswell.”

  Riley stiffened instantly. As the police chief moved away, Tristan reached over and tipped Riley’s chin up so that she was looking at him. “Riley, it wasn’t like Oswell.” His eyes were serious, his voice soft. “The kids in that classroom were scared, but they didn’t see anyone get shot. One of the teachers was talking to the gunman the whole time, keeping him calm. The kid wasn’t even pointing the gun at them except when he felt threatened.”

  Oblivious to Riley’s churning emotions, Quinn approached them with a cocky grin on his face. “Now that we’re done here, do you
guys want to grab a late breakfast? I’m starving.”

  Riley looked up at him as though he were speaking Greek. A surge of icy anger rolled through her, and the chill was evident in her voice. “How can you be so calm?”

  Quinn looked helplessly from Riley to Tristan as though he had just stepped on a land mine and wasn’t sure how to get off. “Uh . . .”

  “Quinn, why don’t you go see if we’re clear to get out of here,” Tristan suggested, giving him an escape route.

  “Right,” Quinn agreed quickly.

  Riley shook her head with disgust. “He’s acting like this is just another day at the office. Two dozen kids just lived a nightmare, and he wants to know if we want something to eat!”

  “This is just another day at the office,” Tristan said gently. “We understand that those kids were scared. We knew that we had a job to do, and we did it, but when it’s all over, life has to go back to normal. We’ve been trained to adjust from crisis mode to normal mode a lot faster than most people.”

  Riley’s frigid anger started to thaw. “I keep thinking about what those students must have gone through. They’re just kids, for heaven’s sake.” She shook her head and let out a sigh.

  “I’m sure Kel would understand if you want to take the rest of the day off.”

  “No.” Riley shook her head. “If you guys can treat this like just another day, I guess I have to learn to do the same.” She glanced over at Quinn. “I supposed I should apologize.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I think he understands.” Tristan took her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  22

  Riley made it through the day—barely. With the rest of the squad, she had helped adjust the schedule to make sure that all of the course elements were still intact after the morning’s near tragedy. She had then spent the remainder of the day coordinating the changes with her volunteers.

  When the chief of police had arrived, she had given her statement of what she had seen and heard at the high school that morning. She had been surprisingly calm throughout the whole process. She had even managed to stay while the police finished reviewing the statements from the SEALs, but when everyone had moved upstairs to a classroom where they could meet with the course participants, Amy had suggested that Riley go home, and Riley hadn’t argued.

  She had driven home, parked her car, walked into her apartment, and lasted about ten seconds before the tears came. She fought against them at first, but she soon realized that the memories were too strong. The tears came furiously then, in racking sobs that tormented her whole body.

  The memories of the dead and wounded at Oswell flooded through her first. Then it was Tristan’s face she could see too clearly. He had sent her out to safety that morning and then headed toward the danger. Twice in the month she had known him she had seen him risk his life to save someone else.

  Riley curled up on her couch, hugging her knees to her chest. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t watch him running into harm’s way every time someone had a crisis. How would she possibly be able to stand it once this course was over? He could get a call one day and she might have to wait for weeks, months even, to find out if he was even still alive.

  The burning in her chest was unbearable, and her love for him was overwhelming. She tried to concentrate on the love, on the tremendous relief she’d felt when Tristan had walked out of the high school that morning. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the alternative from flashing in her mind, seeing Tristan on a stretcher, his face ashen, his body broken.

  He was leaving in a few weeks anyway, she reminded herself. Even though he talked about wanting her to move to Virginia Beach, she couldn’t really be sure their relationship would last. Sure, he said he loved her—she believed he loved her—but they had only known each other for a little over a month. How could she possibly know what to expect from him? Did he fall in love every time he was in one place long enough to have a relationship, or could she really be the one and only person for him?

  She slid down onto the floor and knelt by the couch. She let the questions pour out of her as she sought the answers in prayer. She was so grateful that no one had been killed that morning, but she needed something more than simply knowing everyone had survived. She needed to find peace with the day everyone hadn’t survived, and she needed to find some direction for her future.

  She was closing her prayer when a knock came at the door. A sigh escaped her. She knew it was Tristan, and she knew she couldn’t face him right now. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sat back on the couch, and silently prayed that he would go away until she could find her answers.

  A few seconds passed, and the knock sounded at the door again, this time a little louder. Maybe he would think she wasn’t home and go away. Sure, he would have seen her car parked outside, but she could have gone for a walk or somewhere with Taylor. The tension in her shoulders relaxed marginally when she heard footsteps moving down the hall.

  Just as she was thinking she could avoid talking to him for the moment, her cell phone rang. She could do this, she assured herself. She could answer the phone. She could tell him she had gone for a walk and needed some time alone. After clearing her voice, she picked up the phone with what she hoped was a casual hello.

  “Are you dressed?”

  “What?” The question caught her completely off guard. “Of course I’m dressed. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

  “I don’t understand—” But he’d already hung up.

  Riley stared at her phone for a moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she closed it and dropped it back into her purse. She didn’t notice that the birds chirping outside her living room window were suddenly silent, and she was too distracted to hear the quiet click of the window screen popping out of place. Then she looked up and her mouth dropped open. Tristan was standing in her living room, holding the window screen.

  Flabbergasted, she struggled to find her voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing you dinner.” Tristan snapped the screen back into place, crossed the living room to the front door, and then opened the door to retrieve a brown paper bag. The room instantly smelled like cashew chicken and egg rolls.

  Riley moved to the window and looked down. There wasn’t a ladder. If he hadn’t used a ladder, then how . . . ? “You climbed up the side of my building?”

  “I knew you were in here.” Tristan set the food down on the kitchen table and turned back to look at her. “I thought you probably needed to talk.”

  Riley just stared. A moment ago she’d thought she couldn’t face him right now, but he was right. She did need to talk. She needed answers, but how had he known that? She thought of the prayer she had just offered asking for guidance, and she considered how quickly he had arrived afterward. Then she pushed those thoughts aside and tried to focus on the real problem. And currently, that problem was standing right in front of her, larger than life.

  He had just helped evacuate a school of twelve hundred students, disarmed a troubled teenager, and then climbed up her building to give her Chinese food. Who was this man? As she stared at him, she wasn’t sure she really knew.

  “Hey, come here.” Obviously concerned, Tristan moved to embrace her. His eyes narrowed when she moved away. “Riley, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She shook her head, fighting against the tears welling up in her already swollen eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Do what?” Tristan asked, looking uncertain for the first time since he had climbed through her window. “Look, I know today brought back some horrible memories. You can get through this. I know you can.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s not just that. It’s you. Me. I don’t know if I can live like this.” She hesitated, acutely aware of the way his shoulders had tensed. “Tristan, this makes twice I’ve watched you go toward danger. I guess I kind of knew your job was like that, but see
ing it firsthand, twice now, I don’t know if I can be the kind of person who will just wait around and hope you’ll come back alive.”

  The muscle in his jaw twitched, and she saw in his eyes an emotion she had never seen before, something resembling fear. She had caused that, she thought suddenly. Was it really possible that he loved her as much as she loved him? Could it be the kind of love that would last forever?

  “Don’t push me away,” he finally said, his voice pained. “I don’t think I could stand it if you shut me out of your life.”

  Riley pressed her fingers to her eyes, scared and confused. The thought of having Tristan out of her life was terrifying, but was it any worse than the prospect of watching him leave on dangerous missions time after time?

  As though reading her mind, he asked, “What if I wasn’t a SEAL? What then?”

  Slowly, Riley let her hands drop back to her sides and looked at him. Her stomach jumped when she saw he was serious.

  “You are a SEAL,” she said slowly. “That’s a huge part of you.”

  “I could transfer out of the teams.” Tristan choked the words out.

  “Tristan, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can’t let you stop being what you are, who you are.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Tristan crossed to her now and gripped both of her arms. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Her eyes searched his, the truth of his words reflecting in the deep blue. “I was so scared.”

  “I know.” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

  “No, I don’t think you do. I don’t think you can ever know.” Riley shook her head, her voice passionate. “If you face someone with a gun, even if you’re unarmed, your first instinct is to attack. My first instinct is to hide. Nothing scares you.”

  “That’s not true,” he insisted. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was when that shot went off this morning? All I could think was, Please, Heavenly Father. Don’t let it be Riley.”

  Fresh tears filled her eyes. She felt her resolve weakening and let herself lean toward him. The relief was instant when he slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. His hand stroked her back gently, his head resting lightly on top of hers.