By teols2016
Andi Defesne stepped up behind her husband, the knife still in her hand. Over his broad shoulder, she could see he'd logged onto their online banking system and was scrolling through their finances.
"Find any hidden gems?" she queried.
"It's not the Cave of Wonders," her husband, Marshall, replied, "but I think we're getting there."
Andi nodded, setting her knife down on the kitchen counter next to the toast she'd just finished buttering. Their apartment was so small, Marshall's "home office" consisted of a tiny desk in one corner of their kitchen. When Andi brought home assignments she still needed to grade, she took over the coffee table in their den. They really needed to move, especially before the landlord made them pay to fix the peeling paint on the walls.
Marshall groaned and stretched his arms above his head. He then logged out of the bank's webpage. As he closed the browser, Andi saw he had another window open, this one on the homepage for Newsday. She grimaced as she read three of the visible headlines, all related to yesterday's shooting up in Boston. It seemed the massive manhunt for the shooter was continuing and two more victims had died late the previous evening.
"Could you close that if you're not going to read it?" Andi requested, averting her eyes. Her appetite was now gone and she tossed her buttered piece of toast in the trash.
"Sorry," Marshall grumbled. It wasn't clear if he was actually apologetic or not, but he did close this browser as well before rising from his chair.
"Sick thing that happened up there," he remarked, going to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of orange juice.
Andi just nodded, hoping her silence indicated her unwillingness to talk about what was happening a hundred miles north of them.
Her eyes wandered to the bookshelf in the adjacent den, it's brown wooden doors currently closed. She thought about the lockbox behind those doors, bolted down to the bottom shelf, and the pistol stored in there, alongside the extra ammunition. Having grown up around guns, Marshall could teach classes on firearms safety. But, even though he was as meticulous as he was knowledgeable, she wasn't comforted. She felt her mind going back to that dark closet and shook her head. She was already running late.
"You okay?" Marshall asked.
"Yeah," Andi said in a faint voice.
Marshall seemed to get the hint as he began drinking directly from the orange juice bottle. Andi frowned and wrinkled her nose as he emptied the bottle and tossed it in the trash can beneath their sink. Even if he were going to empty the bottle, couldn't he use a glass or something?
"You working outside today?" Andi asked, having given up on chastising him about this habit months ago.
"No," Marshall replied, unplugging his phone from the wall, where it had been charging all night, and checking for new messages. He worked in construction and spent about half of every workweek on some worksite.
"Good," Andi said. "It's supposed to be freezing today. They're predicting snow this morning."
"Uh-huh," Marshall mumbled. He was texting someone, probably for work.
"I gotta run," Andi said, grabbing her coat from the hook by the front door and patting the pockets for her keys. "You wanna get take-out tonight?"
"Sure," Marshall mumbled.
Andi found two empty Tic-Tac containers in her coat pocket. She'd always had a fondness for the orange-flavored ones. She set them on the little table by the front door. She was already running late. She'd toss them out for recycling when she got home.
"Bye," she said as she left.
"Bye," Marshall returned, still texting.
Andi pulled the front door shut behind her and sighed. They wanted to build on this life together? Heck, she couldn't even commit to losing those last ten pounds.
| Author Notes |
I'll let this prologue speak for itself.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher in Port Jefferson, NY. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. |
By teols2016
Despite the chilly temperature, this was the first nice day in a while. Overcast skies had plagued Long Island for the past few weeks, bringing either rain or snow flurries. There'd been a Nor'easter the previous month, but, typical of New York, it was now a distant memory with schools having only closed for a day. Now, there was no snow on the ground and only a couple white clouds in the sky.
Like their counterparts across Suffolk County, the students at Port Jefferson's Ellison Elementary School had been in class for about an hour. Despite what someone who'd never seen the gray brick structure might believe, any witnesses immediately described it as "inviting" or "welcoming". A long path led from the bus drop-off lane to the front doors. Grass and flowers on each side kept the area open, making anyone's approach towards the school un-surreptitious. Through the glass front doors, anyone could see the bright yellow walls with blue trim, instilling school spirit in the student body as soon as they entered. Beyond the bus drop-off lane was a parking lot for visitors while the faculty parked their cars on a side lot.
* * *
"Attention all units," the dispatcher said over the radios of police cruisers across the county. "We have a 10-25 at Ellison Elementary in Port Jefferson. Repeat ... a 10-25 at Ellison Elementary in Port Jefferson."
A 10-25 was department code for a prowler or suspicious person. Most veterans recalled this code immediately while their younger brethren used their cruisers' computers to check what it meant.
"Unit 4-1," someone responded. "We're just a couple minutes from there. We'll check it out."
"Unit 7-9," someone else said. "We'll back you up."
"10-4."
It was all casual and routine. Everyone sounded calm over the radio. The "prowler" or "suspicious person" was probably a homeless person or someone just taking a walk and venturing onto the school's grounds. Still, it couldn't hurt to have a few officers check it out. If nothing else, the community couldn't complain about their lack of vigilance.
* * *
"Hey!" someone shouted. "Hold it! What are you doing?"
Andi had just turned her head towards the door when the shouting was replaced by gunfire. Two sharp cracks reverberated through the open doorway.
"Oh my God!" someone else, maybe from a nearby classroom, shouted.
Andi didn't pause to think. Those gunshots came from the hallway just outside her door. Glancing towards her 2nd graders, who were already ducking underneath their desks, she leapt out of her chair and bounded to the door, pulling her keys out of her pocket. Procedures and memories of previous drills flew through her head as she moved.
She'd grabbed the knob and was pushing the door shut when a large man appeared in front of her, a handgun, which could best be described as proportional in size, clutched in his grip. As he raised it, Andi shoved the door closed.
The man was quicker, propelling one large, booted foot in the door's path and pushing against her efforts. The force of his resistance knocked Andi back in the direction of her desk. Stumbling but managing to remain standing, she heard several students gasp in fright. She was too shocked to make a sound.
The man was coming into the room, his gun still raised.
"Hey!" someone cried.
The man turned and Andi saw David Gardener, the teacher in the room across from hers, coming up behind him. He was about a head shorter than the armed intruder and his arms looked like twigs in comparison, but he seemed ready to fight.
As David was about to charge, the man raised one of his boots. He kicked David in the stomach with one quick motion. Then, looking as though he'd only stopped to swat a fly, the intruder turned to reenter the room. David lay on the light-gray linoleum floor in the corridor, groaning.
Andi had used the distraction to get to the door again but, again, the intruder was quicker. This time, he grabbed her before she could even reach the door.
His movements seemed to fly by in a blur. Before Andi could register what was happening, he'd swung the door shut behind him, had pulled her around, and slammed her against the door. The sudden motions caused her glasses to fly off her face. His hand was now around her neck, squeezing but not yet choking, and the muzzle of his gun was pressed against her temple. Andi could hear whimpering and gasps from the direction of her students' desks.
The man was bending a bit so his face was inches from hers. Without her glasses, Andi saw only a blurred version of what had to be menacing features. His breath stank like burgers and beer. He was taking long, deep breaths, making the stench worse.
"No sudden moves," he growled, pressing his gun against her head even harder. "No loud noises. Do as I say. Got me?"
Andi could only whimper as she nodded, her head jerking up and down to make the message clear. The man released her neck and the pressure of his gun against her head lessened. Andi gulped down air while working to keep her knees from buckling.
"Give me those keys," the man demanded.
Andi realized she was still holding her keys. She glanced down at her hand and up at the armed man, considering her options. She then glanced over at her students, their blurry shapes almost invisible under their desks.
"Give them to me," the man demanded, glaring at her. While his first request had been relaxed and almost cordial, this one came out in a more agitated tone.
Andi slowly raised her hand and held out the keys. She felt the tug as he snatched them from her fingers.
Just then, the school's intercom, its speaker set high on the wall next to the door, crackled.
"Lockdown," a voice, trying not to sound too urgent, said. "All faculty initiate lockdown procedures immediately."
Andi thought she recognized the voice as that of the vice principal, Ellen Barkley. The man's voice pushed this thought out of her head.
"You heard her," he said.
The man reached around Andi's waist to where she knew the door handle and, above it, the lock was located. She heard scratching and grumbling as he tried what had to be her apartment key, the key for her ageing Volvo, and the key to her gym locker.
By now, they could all hear a distant siren. The man's grumbling became more agitated while Andi's heart soared and crashed in a matter of seconds. Sure, the police were coming, but what could they do? Could they get in and stop all this before anyone else got hurt?
The man seemed to have found the right key. Andi had to swallow the large lump in her throat as she heard the metallic clicks and sliding noises of the room, and possibly all their fates, being sealed.
When the door was locked, the man took a few steps back. The sudden, sickening crunching sound told Andi the situation managed to get worse.
* * *
"Attention all units," the dispatcher said, sounding a bit more urgent, though still collected, this time. "10-6. 10-6. Clear the airwaves."
The chatter on the police radio frequency died down within seconds. Transmissions were now only permitted in case of an emergency. Something serious had happened and tasks needed to be assigned uninterrupted.
"10-99," the dispatcher reported. "10-99. Active shooter reported at Ellison Elementary in Port Jefferson."
The school's address appeared on the computer screens of every cruiser in the county with a written rehash of the last transmission. Most officers had heard the earlier radio call about the 10-25, a report of a prowler or suspicious person on the school grounds. But when two units in the area responded that they would investigate, everyone else returned to their own duties. This was different.
"10-93," the dispatcher continued. "Requesting major assistance. All available units, please respond."
"Major assistance" was in the department's radio vernacular, reserved for only the most serious incidents.
* * *
The man glanced down at where Andi realized her now-broken glasses lay. He didn't seem bothered. He didn't say anything at all.
Then, they all heard voices out in the hallway.
"Hey," the man said, turning towards the students' desks. "Everybody up. Get up in your seats. Now."
Even Andi could tell that nobody moved.
"Hey!" the man barked. "I said get into your seats! Now! Do it!"
"Do what he says," Andi encouraged, her eyes on the blurry outline of the gun at his side.
Her heart broke as she listened to the shuffling of the students obeying. Some were whimpering. Chairs were pulled across the carpeting and soon things looked almost normal in the classroom.
"You too," the man said to Andi in a low voice, pointing. "Sit at your desk ... and keep your hands where I can see them. No surprises."
Andi took a single step when Someone began banging on the door. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Police!" a muffled voice called through the thick wood. "Open the door!"
The man moved to the left, probably to not be seen through the narrow window in the door.
"Go away!" he called.
Andi couldn't tell if he was trying to give the cops the impression everything was fine or if he was just giving an order.
"Open the door!" the voice insisted.
To Andi's horror, the man raised his gun.
"No!" she cried.
But she never had a chance to move before the ringing bang filled the room. Many of her students gasped and a couple screamed. Some covered their ears.
Andi heard glass shattering, followed by a loud thump. This was followed by several urgent voices out in the hallway.
"Jesus! Joe!"
"Shots fired! Shots fired! Officer down."
This was followed by the sound of radio chatter. Andi realized the bullet had gone through the narrow window, probably striking a police officer. She was frozen by terror as she watched the man keep his gun raised.
"Back off!" he demanded. "Back off or I kill everyone in here!"
Again moving quickly, he reached out and grabbed Andi by the neck, shoving the muzzle of his gun against her cheek. She heard the students gasp again and tried desperately to keep herself from crying.
"I'll start with Ginger here if you're not gone in the next five seconds," the man said. "Five ... four ..."
"Okay," someone said from out in the hallway, his urgent tone trying to portray immediate compliance. "We're moving away."
Everything stood still for several seconds. They could all hear shuffling and voices in the hallway. Andi's heart kept racing as she was held at gunpoint for the second time in just a few minutes.
"Please ..." she began.
"Shut up," the man interjected in a low growl.
After what felt like an eternity, he seemed satisfied and pulled his gun away from Andi's cheek, lowering it to his side again. He also released his grip on her neck.
"Get to your desk," he demanded. "Now."
Not daring to bring up her current visual impairment, Andi moved slowly. Using the large whiteboard in the front of the classroom to orient herself, she had an idea where her desk was located and held her hands out in front of her, groping for its edge. Last thing she wanted was to slam her hip into it.
Her fingers brushed the plastic/wood combination that made up her desk. Andi grasped the edge and moved around to her chair. Glancing at the man, she saw he was watching her, his gun seeming to remain at his side.
Andi sank into her swivel chair and studied him for the first time. He was tall, maybe eight inches taller than her, African American, and well-built. She'd figured that last part out when he'd slammed her against the door. The man seemed to be bald, but it was hard for her to tell.
Andi was five feet, five inches tall. She was thin but knew how to defend herself, having taken jujitsu for many years. Still, she thought it best not to try her skills against this armed man. He'd already shown a willingness to use that gun.
The man stepped around Andi's desk and walked over to the windows. He began pulling the blinds down one-by-one. The room became a little darker as the sunlight was blocked.
Watching the man work, Andi reached for the top drawer in her desk. She wanted to get some control back, even if just a little.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked.
Andi gasped. The man was at her desk again, pointing his gun at her. Her hand froze centimeters from the drawer's handle.
"I ..." she stammered. "I was just getting my other pair of glasses. I need them to see."
"Not going to happen," the man said. "Put your hands on top of the desk. Do it now."
Andi did so. She looked at her students. They all seemed to be looking back at her, hoping for guidance. She looked at the man, who had lowered his gun again.
"Please," she said, "let them go. You don't need them."
She could tell he was slowly shaking his head.
"Nobody's going anywhere," he said.
He went to a rack by Andi's desk and picked up several magazines. Andi could hear the long, ripping sounds as he tore them into pieces. These were followed by the sounds of paper being crumpled.
He walked back to the classroom door and bent down. Andi realized he was stuffing the crumpled magazine pages into the crack underneath her door.
"What are you doing that for?" she asked.
He ignored her and picked something off the wall next to the door. Andi realized it was the long piece of black construction paper she kept hanging there. It was meant to cover the narrow window in the door which now sported a bullet hole. Pieces of Velcro already affixed to the paper and the window frame were meant to achieve rapid adherence. It was another part of the school's procedure for an active shooter situation. If a shooter couldn't open a locked door and couldn't see through the window to check if anyone were inside, they were less likely to try and gain access to that room. Now, this man was using such protocols to keep anyone, like the police, from being able to see into the room.
Once again, the intercom came to life.
"Attention all students and faculty," the vice principal was saying. "Please follow the instructions of police and first responders and evacuate the building."
Andi already knew this didn't apply to anyone in this room. She looked down at her hands, hoping someone outside had a better plan.
| Author Notes |
Like with the prologue, I'll let this chapter speak for itself. Short recaps/background snipets will begin in Chapter 2.
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional. Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. David Gardener: colleague of Andi's at the Ellison Elementary School. Injured when a gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Suffolk County Police Sargent Kevin Greer could count on one hand the number of reasons that would warrant the massive response he now had to organize. An escape at the county jail ... an officer getting shot ... an active shooter ... an active shooter at a school.
He'd already given several instructions which were being completed. The phone company had suspended service for the school and a line for negotiations would soon be ready. Discussions were in progress about cutting power to the building, but Kevin was reluctant to authorize this course of action with such young hostages involved.
A SWAT team was inspecting the building to see if the possibility of safely breaching the classroom was an option and they were due to give a report in a matter of minutes. Footage from the school's external surveillance cameras was being reviewed to try and learn more about the gunman and how he'd gotten into the building. Still, there was more to do.
Any available units were speeding to the school. This included the police department, the sheriff's office, state troopers, and other municipal agencies. Nassau County and New York City were sending reinforcements. A command center was being set up in the school's parking lot to organize the massive response and simultaneous evacuation of students and teachers. Several school busses had already been commandeered from a county depot to ferry civilians to safety. A perimeter was being established as everyone braced for the possibility of more gunfire.
As he surveyed the scene, Kevin took a moment to text his wife.
At situation at a school. Get Chris when you can and check on Justin.
They'd established their own protocol when he first took this new assignment a decade earlier. Sure, the boys were younger back then, but it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that Christopher was a senior at the Ward Melville High School in East Setauket, about ten miles away, and Justin was studying up at Albany. Knowing his family was safe would help Kevin focus as he sorted out the situation facing him.
Port Jefferson's Ellison Elementary School, informally known as "PJ Elementary East", was opened five years ago to alleviate overcrowding at the Edna Louise Spear Elementary School on Scraggy Hill Road a few miles away. So far, this institution had stayed out of the news. Kevin considered how it would now be another place associated with violence. His stomach lurched. A friend of his in the FBI kept a large map of the United States pegged on a wall in his basement. With every mass shooting, he put another peg in the corresponding location. The map was getting full.
One officer, a senior patrol officer, judging by his age and the lack of stripes on his uniform, was coming over and Kevin watched him approach.
"What's the latest?" he asked.
"Most of the school's evacuated," the officer replied. "We've got a few more rooms to get to, but some of the teachers confirm the gunman entered one classroom and hasn't come out since. Our officers attempted to gain entry but realized they would only risk the lives of those inside and they backed off."
Kevin would have liked it if this room were being renovated or something ... anything that would cause it to be unoccupied. He was never that lucky.
"We've got units getting information on who's inside," the officer continued.
Fabulous, Kevin thought. He was called to the scene by his captain because he was the best hostage negotiator available. The department's best negotiator was currently on the ninth hole somewhere in Arizona and wouldn't be back until next week. Now, this was indeed looking like a hostage situation and Kevin was in charge of resolving it.
"Shots were fired," he said, recalling the initial dispatch. "Any casualties?"
"The SRO took two to the chest," the officer reported. "Our guys got in there and dragged him out. He's critical but the paramedics think he's got a shot. They rushed him out of here just about a minute ago ... lights, sirens ... the full package."
Kevin thought about this. If the shooter took down the School Resource Officer, a state-certified law enforcement official, he would be willing to keep causing more harm. And he already had.
"What about the deputy?" Kevin asked, knowing how the man, having been one of the first to arrive, had been hit.
"Took one to the shoulder," the officer replied. "His vest seems to have caught it and we got him out. Paramedics took him to Mather to be sure. There was also a teacher. Guy tried to stop the shooter and took a hard blow to the stomach for his trouble, and I mean hard. Says the shooter outweighed him by about a hundred pounds. An ambulance took him away as well."
This was getting worse by the word. The shooter seemed to be physically strong and he wasn't letting anyone get in his way. Kevin took a deep breath and ran one hand through his short, brown hair.
"let me know when you've got more on who's in that room," he instructed.
The officer nodded. Behind him, Kevin could see the department's Mobile Command Center, a large, customized coach bus, pulling into the parking lot, an officer gesturing to the driver like he was working on the runway at an airport. When the bus stopped, Lieutenant Aldo Cruz got out and began barking orders, though Kevin was too far to understand him. He knew they'd be setting up equipment. He wanted a line in that classroom.
Lieutenant Aldo Cruz was a tall, beefy man still sporting the crew cut he'd gotten during his service in the Marines over a decade ago. He gave orders in a booming voice and officers and technicians scrambled to follow.
"Sargent!" another officer called, hurrying over to Kevin, a suited man following close behind her.
"This is Phillip Caulder," the officer said, gesturing at the suited man. "He's the principal here."
"Good to meet you," Kevin said. "What can you tell me about that room the gunman's barricaded himself in?"
"It's Andi Defesne's classroom," Phillip Caulder explained, catching his breath. "She teaches 2nd grade here."
"How many students in her class?"
Kevin wouldn't bother to ask if the class was maybe on a field trip.
"A little over twenty," Phillip Caulder replied. "I'm not sure exactly."
Kevin nodded. The man looked agitated and his hands were shaking. He needed something to do ... something to occupy his mind.
"Have the district get us a class roster," Kevin instructed. "And we'll need to know if anyone's absent today."
"Of course," Phillip Caulder said, glancing at all the bustling officers around their group.
"There's something else," the officer interjected. "Mr. Caulder was walking the parking lot with me. There's a dark-green Chrysler SUV he doesn't recognize. It's got plates from Massachusetts. I called in the plate number, but I'm still waiting."
"Lean on dispatch with that," Kevin instructed. "And secure the vehicle. We'll have the crime lab guys down here soon enough to take a look at it."
If this SUV was the gunman's, he wanted to know everything about it. Someone could take a minute to check that on a computer.
He walked over to Lieutenant Cruz, who was finishing up a phone call and pocketing his cell phone. The men had worked together before and no introductions were needed.
"Feds are sniffing around," the lieutenant said, speaking in a softer tone compared to a few minutes ago. "They might be sending a delegation from beyond their local people. I know the Divisional SWAT Team in Manhattan is already gearing up to get here. Should make it in a couple of hours."
Federal personnel from local resident agencies and field offices were arriving at the scene, but they were differing to the local department's authority. If agents from further away were coming, this cooperation might begin eroding.
"You tell them we can handle it?" Kevin asked.
"I did, but they didn't seem satisfied," Lieutenant Cruz replied. "They asked about that teacher ... mentioned her by name more than once."
Kevin found this peculiar. He'd have to ask Andi Defesne about this once he got her out of the building.
The officer Kevin had spoken to earlier called out from the Command Center, the school principal nowhere in sight. Kevin and Lieutenant Cruz hurried over.
"Dispatch came back on the plate for the mysterious green Chrysler," the officer reported. "Plates belong to a blue Honda Civic. That car was reported stolen yesterday. Owner is a Patrick Fahey from Boston."
Kevin thought he knew that name, though he couldn't recall how. He'd never been to Massachusetts in his life, let alone Boston.
He climbed into the Command Center. The long bus had five computer terminals set up along with two laptops. One of these laptops was currently unoccupied and Kevin took a seat in front of it. It was a department-issued computer and he was quickly able to log into the network.
He went straight to Google and typed in "Patrick Fahey", adding "Massachusetts" for good measure. After all, it sounded like a common name.
As common as the name might be, Kevin didn't have to scroll far to find an answer. The 2nd result was an article from the Boston Globe which identified twenty-two-year-old Patrick Fahey as a junior at Northeastern University. He and his girlfriend, twenty-one-year-old Mallory Whiteson, were shot and killed the previous evening during a carjacking suspected to be the work of John Kirkland.
Kevin stared at the accompanying photo, a mug shot curtesy of the Boston Police Department. He knew Kirkland was six feet, one inch and weighed two hundred and thirty-three pounds, most of that being muscle. The man staring out from this mug shot looked menacing. It wasn't hard to link him to these murders, even without the evidence.
Though the article went on to recap Kirkland's crime spree, Kevin didn't need to continue. He'd read the bulletin long before the press saw it and his heart had already sank as a new reality came to be.
Glancing up, Kevin saw Lieutenant Cruz had been reading over his shoulder. The two men locked eyes.
"How many is it now?" Kevin asked.
"Six, I think," Lieutenant Cruz replied. "Not to mention the wounded."
Kevin nodded.
"We've got a line set up," a technician reported from further down the bus.
Kevin swiveled around in his seat. It was time to get to work. He couldn't think about what he'd just learned.
* * *
Everyone jumped as the phone on Andi's desk rang ... everyone except the man. He studied the ringing device for a few seconds before turning to Andi.
"Answer it," he instructed. "Put it on speakerphone."
Andi looked at the phone. She had to be honest with him.
"I can't see which button it is," she confessed.
She didn't know what this would achieve, but her fumbling would have a greater chance of confusing and maybe aggravating him.
"Answer it," the man repeated.
Andi reached out, found the receiver, and lifted it from the cradle. As she did this, the man reached over and hit a button.
A new voice filled the room.
"Hello?"
"Yes?" Andi returned.
"Whom am I speaking with?"
This new voice, a man's, sounded calm and reassuring. Surely it had to be a police officer. Andi swallowed a lump in her throat.
"I'm Andi ... Andi Defesne."
"Mrs. Defesne. I'm Sargent Kevin Greer with the Suffolk County Police Department. Is everyone all right?"
Andi studied the room as best she could.
"Yes ..." she said. "I guess."
No one was bleeding, if that was what this sergeant wanted to know.
"That's good to hear," the sergeant, Kevin, said. "Let me talk to John."
Andi was sure he'd already realized he was on speakerphone. She watched the man, presumably John, who didn't show any sign of surprise.
"You already know who I am, huh?" he asked in a flat tone.
"Come on John," Kevin replied. "Every cop in the country knows who you are. You're in a tough spot."
"No kidding. What are you going to do about it?"
"Let's talk. Let's find a way out for everyone."
John chuckled.
"This is where you want to know what I want, right?" he asked. "Should I demand a car to the airport and a jet, fueled and ready to go? Where should it take me? Cuba? Rio? How much money should I tell you to bring me?"
"Is that what you want?" Kevin asked, still maintaining a calm, even tone.
John snorted.
"How about this?" he asked. "When you have a way out for me that I would find agreeable, call back. Until then, don't try anything stupid."
He hung up the phone.
At this, a girl began to whimper. Andi recognized it was Tiffany, one of, if not the shiest student in the class.
"I wanna go home," Tiffany wailed.
"Too bad," John muttered in a dismissive tone. "Be quiet."
Tiffany seemed to be trying, but the occasional choked sob could still be heard.
* * *
"Well, the feds made it clear," Lieutenant Cruz reported. "They're on their way."
Kevin nodded as an officer handed him a printout containing the background check on John Kirkland. Prior to his bloody escape from the courthouse twenty-four hours earlier and the crime that'd brought him to that building to begin with, he had no criminal record. He'd attended Bunker Hill Community College and worked as an x-ray technician for seven years at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston's West End neighborhood. He also paid monthly dues to a gym, which explained the muscular physique seen in all the mug shots and security footage.
Kevin knew of the man's criminal activities quite well, thanks to both the news and police bulletins. Kirkland had broken into his ex-girlfriend's apartment, shot her current boyfriend, and pistol-whipped her before fleeing. Arrested within a day of this crime and unable to make bail, he was brought to court the previous morning to plead guilty to one count of burglary and assault on an occupant. He was to receive the minimum of fifteen years in prison while the prosecution would drop additional charges, including attempted murder, which could have resulted in a life sentence. All that became irrelevant within an hour of his arrival at the courthouse.
Kevin understood Kirkland would never see freedom again. No judge or prosecutor would be lenient. He had to find another way to convince the man to end this and release the hostages without further bloodshed.
Making things more complicated was an inability for the SWAT team to safely ambush the assailant. The brick walls were too thick to quickly break through and the classroom door was the only available entry point. With the blinds drawn over the room's windows, no sniper had a clear shot. Visibility through or underneath the door was likewise hampered by Kirkland's maneuvers of covering that narrow window and stuffing paper into the crack underneath.
While he wanted a peaceful resolution, Kevin wasn't opposed to the use of lethal force. The problem was any approach would alert Kirkland to an onslaught. He'd be watching that door and listening for any activity beyond it, a job made easier by the bullet hole in the window. Even if a sniper could get a line of sight on him through the outer windows, there was a good chance he'd need two shots, the first to shatter the glass. If he sensed an assault, Kirkland was sure to kill as many people in that room as possible.
Now, with the feds on their way, the situation would only become more complicated.
* * *
John stepped over to Tiffany's desk. The girl was still trying to be quiet without success. She gasped as he raised his gun.
"I said, 'shut up'," John growled.
Tiffany began to cry.
"Leave her alone," a boy demanded.
Andi recognized the speaker as Charlie, who sat diagonally behind Tiffany. Anyone would recognize Charlie despite any visual impairments. The kid often thought of himself as a tough guy, standing up for someone even when it wasn't needed. Plus, Andi suspected the boy had a crush on Tiffany, even if he would never admit it.
This was not the time for Charlie to act tough. Andi's mind began racing as she tried to figure out a way to calm everyone down.
John turned to Charlie.
"You want to fight me, kid?" he asked. "Come on. Try it."
Charlie seemed to freeze as he was confronted by someone about twenty times his size.
"I thought so," John said. "Sit there and stay quiet, for everyone's sake."
He turned and headed back to the front of the room.
"You're a bully!"
John froze and Andi tried to figure out who had said that. The voice was female, but she couldn't discern anything else.â??
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Phillip Caulder: principal of the Ellison Elementary School. Patrick Fahey: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Mallory Whiteson: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. David Gardener: colleague of Andi's at the Ellison Elementary School. Injured when John Kirkland invades the Ellison Elementary School. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Wearing protective body armor over his uniform, Kevin followed the SWAT officer around the side of the building. There were no windows here. Still, they needed to be careful and moved at a slow pace, watching their surroundings. All they saw were more officers, vans, and cruisers which made up the perimeter. A department helicopter was circling overhead, its rotors emitting a dull roar.
By now, officers had used the commandeered school busses to ferry the evacuated students and teachers to Edna Louise Spear Elementary School, informally known as "Scraggy Hill", where their families were being sent for reunifications. All schools in Port Jefferson, as well as the neighboring towns of Mount Sinai, Miller Place, and Port Jefferson Station held emergency early dismissals and residents were advised to stay out of the area if they didn't need to be there.
Though Kirkland's presence inside Ellison Elementary School was not yet known outside of police circles, the press already had plenty to broadcast. News vans lined the streets beyond the barricades and televisions inside the Mobil Command Center were being used to monitor what the reporters were sharing with their viewers.
"Here," the SWAT officer said as they reached the door. "This is where he got into the building."
Kevin studied the door, made of metal and plastic with a slim window in it, similar to the windows on the classroom doors inside.
"Did he pick the lock?" Kevin asked, remembering having read how Kirkland picked the lock on the balcony door of his ex-girlfriend's apartment. The school's door didn't look damaged, but someone would have taken the time to examine it more closely by now. A professional eye would spot what the average examination would likely miss.
"Principal says that's what they saw him doing on the security camera," the SWAT officer replied. "The SRO went to check it out and that's when it all went down."
Kevin considered this.
"How far is the classroom with the hostages from here?" he asked.
"Right there," the SWAT officer said, pointing through the slim window. "Third door on the left."
Kevin knew they had to reposition the Mobile Command Center and all operations related to it. He wanted this door to be their focal point, not the building's front door, a good five minutes' walk through school corridors to the seized classroom.
He peered through the window and studied the door to Andi Defesne's classroom. It was wooden with a metal lock and handle. It too had a slim window, which Kirkland would be watching. Kevin could just make out that part of the window was missing, having been shot out earlier. He could see a few pieces of glass on the floor.
"All right," he said, turning back to the SWAT officer. "Let's go back."
The FBI and other federal agencies would be here soon, making things more complicated. Kevin wanted to try and use that before it became an issue.
Lieutenant Cruz was waiting by the Mobile Command Center.
"Our secret's out," he reported.
"What do you mean?" Kevin asked as the SWAT officer left to rejoin his unit.
"Come in and have a look."
Kevin followed the lieutenant onto the bus. It didn't take long to learn what had happened.
On one television screen, a blonde reporter was speaking while John Kirkland's mug shot was prominent just over her shoulder.
"Though authorities are not confirming it at this time, there is strong evidence that the assailant inside the school is John Kirkland, who has been the subject of a large-scale manhunt for the past twenty-four hours," the reporter was saying. "Yesterday morning, Kirkland escaped from Boston's Suffolk County Courthouse during a plea hearing. Gaining control of a court officer's service pistol, Kirkland shot multiple people while fleeing the building. Killed in the shooting were Superior Court Judge Michelle Powell, Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Lucius Oakes, and Court Officer Matthew Vinyard. Also wounded in the shooting were court reporter Remy Kaye, defense attorney Kyle Hudson, two more court officers, and four spectators. Kirkland is known to have taken the pistol of one wounded court officer, as well as a spare ammunition clip, during the rampage ..."
"We know how this got out?" Kevin asked, turning away from the screen, sickened by the photos of the victims that were now flashing across the screen. They weren't gruesome or anything like that, but it bothered him to see the vibrant faces of people involved in his case whom he knew were already dead.
"Not sure," Lieutenant Cruz admitted. "It was bound to happen though."
Kevin only nodded. He'd worry about leaks later.
"How'd Kirkland overpower that first officer and get his gun, anyway?" he asked.
"How I understand it, the court officers screwed up," Lieutenant Cruz said. "They only used a pair of handcuffs to restrain him. Kirkland was sitting in jail for two months and didn't have a blemish on his record. He was Mr. Meek and Compliant and they let their guard down. When he attacked the lone officer assigned to escort him to the holding cell outside the courtroom, he had full use of his feet and even used the cuffs as a weapon to choke the officer unconscious."
"Meek and compliant. I think that's how Hannibal Lector tricked his guards."
Kevin wondered what act Kirkland might try now. He hoped no one here would become complacent.
* * *
Andi watched as John studied the students, still searching for the speaker. His gun seemed to be down at his side, which offered some small relief.
"Funny," John muttered. "One of you calls me a 'bully', trying to be some sort of hero, but you all are now quiet. Anyone willing to step forward and take the credit?"
Andi prayed everyone would stay silent and they could overcome this latest confrontation.
"You think you've got it so tough living out here in these nice suburbs?" John continued.
"Nobody thinks that," Andi tried, though she doubted he'd be convinced. In any case, he seemed to ignore her comment.
"Any of you ever hear of Roxbury?" John asked.
The students remained silent. John chuckled.
"Yeah," he said, "you wouldn't have heard of it. I lived in the projects there. It's nothing like your cushy town here. You got gangs, drug dealers, shootings ... and I haven't even gotten to the ghetto part of it."
Andi thought about pointing out that parts of Port Jefferson weren't great either. The area near the train station was a known location for dealing. Her and Marshall's apartment wasn't in the safest neighborhood. After their next-door neighbor was robbed at gunpoint in his home last year, Andi had forsaken her issues with guns and allowed a small revolver to be kept for protection. She had yet to touch the thing or take shooting lessons, but Marshall was being patient and understanding. He knew what it had taken for her to even let the weapon through their front door.
Thinking about the gun led Andi to thinking about the closet again. These thoughts didn't come up often when she was at work. She supposed her current situation could serve as an exception to the rule. She shook her head, trying to clear away the darkness.
"You got an objection you'd like to share?" John asked.
Andi decided this wasn't the time for a debate. Plus, the ringing phone took away any opportunity she had to object.
John came over and hit the phone's speakerphone button again.
"Hey John," a voice said. "Can you hear me?"
It was the same voice as before ... the sergeant, Kevin.
"Yeah," John grumbled, "I hear you."
"We gotta see if we can work something out, John," Kevin said.
"Why's that?" John asked, not seeming to care.
"The FBI are on their way. Other agencies as well. I wouldn't be surprised if representatives from Boston show up here. It's going to get a lot more complicated."
"Let me guess. You wanna bring me out in cuffs so you can be the big hero."
"I want to end this without more bloodshed," Kevin replied without betraying any emotion. "A lot of people have been hurt and killed. You sent three people to the hospital today. Not a lot of guys out here will want to listen to what you want to say the longer this continues."
"I'll think about it," John said and ended the call.
* * *
Kevin sighed. He supposed that could have gone worse. He wondered how much time he had before the feds, and possibly a delegation from Boston, arrived. This had already gone on for two and a half hours.
Kevin heard approaching sirens and stepped to the door to have a look. He saw several black sedans and two large vans pulling into the parking lot, officers having moved aside the barricades to grant them access.
Figuring this was the FBI's Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan, Kevin exited the Mobil Command Center and approached this convoy as about twenty men and women in body armor exited. Sure enough, their body armor was stenciled with "FBI" in bold white letters.
One of the agents looked up as Kevin approached. Already wearing his helmet, he raised its visor. Kevin stared at the man, who seemed to be around the same age as him.
"Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson," the man said. "FBI."
Kevin nodded and introduced himself.
"You guys have a plan?" he asked, fearing he was about to be pushed aside.
"We're here to work with you," Dodson replied with a raised hand. "From the information we've been given, it's my understanding that the school's been evacuated with the exception of that one classroom."
Kevin nodded.
"I'd like to lead a small team inside to better assess the situation," Dodson said. "First and foremost, we want to get eyes into that room. It is my understanding that you were not yet able to accomplish this."
"How many do you want to send in?" Kevin asked, eyeing the twenty or so armored agents behind their leader. They were unloading equipment, which included large, automatic rifles.
"Four or five," Dodson replied, seeming to ignore Kevin's stare. "We want to integrate the rest of our people with yours out here. Maybe we can set up shifts so no one freezes in this weather if this continues for a while."
He gave Kevin a hard look.
"We want to cooperate with you," he added. "I've been hearing there's something bigger at play in all this. I know people from New England are on their way. You and I can probably agree how murky that could make things."
Kevin nodded. He was starting to like this guy.
"You'll have to speak with my lieutenant," he said. "He's coordinating with our SWAT Team."
Dodson nodded as an officer approached them.
"We've got a growing crowd of anxious parents out there," he reported, pointing back towards the barricades. "What should we tell them?"
Kevin thought for a moment. Lieutenant Cruz had gone to confer with the SWAT team, so this was his call.
"Go," Dodson said as though his input was requested. "We're not running off anywhere."
Kevin nodded again.
"I'll talk to them," He said.
He followed the officer around the Mobil Command Center over to the barricades. A crowd had indeed formed behind the sawhorses, consisting of many people in various business attire and winter jackets. Having left his own winter coat on the bus, Kevin suddenly felt chilly himself.
He knew the school had sent out automated calls and text messages when the crisis began, directing parents to Scraggy Hill to reunite with their children. These folks here would have by now learned where their children were after discovering they weren't in the other elementary school.
The chatter was incomprehensible as a couple officers and Phillip Caulder, the school's principal, tried to address the group.
"My son is in there!" one man bellowed, looking ready to punch someone.
"Stacey has asthma," a raven-haired woman was saying, almost in tears. "She can't take this kind of stress. You have to do something."
Kevin wondered if any of these parents had witnessed the FBI's arrival just now.
"What are you doing?" another man asked, trying to push a barricade aside.
"Sir," an officer said, holding the sawhorse in place, "you can't cross ..."
"The heck I can't!" the man said as other people gathered behind him.
Folks!" Kevin shouted to get everyone's attention. It seemed to work as the chatter lessened a bit and the shoving stopped. Maybe they noticed the Sergeant's stripes on his uniform and understood he had more power and maybe more answers.
"I'm Suffolk County Police Sergeant Kevin Greer. I'm the lead hostage negotiator here. I want to reassure you all that your children have not been harmed."
"How would you know?" someone asked.
Kevin considered his answer. He hadn't seen the kids. He'd only been able to take their teacher's word for it. He supposed she might have been forced to respond that way, but no further gunfire had been heard and Kirkland wouldn't have had time to plan a ruse. He probably hadn't planned to be stuck inside this school at all.
"Why aren't you negotiating?" a woman in a purple parka asked. "Why aren't you convincing this man to let our children go?"
Some other parents murmured their agreement.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lieutenant Cruz said, coming up next to Kevin. "We've set up an area at the Edna Louise Spear Elementary School for you to wait. Officers will be on site and will update you as soon as anything develops."
The group's volume rose again, carrying their objections.
"I'm not leaving!" the man who'd been shouting about his son earlier replied.
"We need to be here," the woman in the purple parka insisted.
"Folks," Lieutenant Cruz said. "We do not have the resources to accommodate you at this location. Please, go to the Edna Louise Spear school and we will keep you informed."
By now, more officers had gathered by the barricade. This time, the objections were quieter as, one-by-one, the parents walked back to their cars.
"Thanks," Kevin said, turning to his superior.
"It's not your job to deal with them," Lieutenant Cruz said. "And we can't let them stay here to influence God knows who. Get back to seeing how to talk Kirkland down."
Kevin nodded. He was turning to head back to the bus when he spotted a man who hadn't left his spot at the barricade. This man was staring at the scene of police cars, officers, vans, and the occasional fire truck or ambulance. His face was blank and his hands were on the sawhorse, but he wasn't trying to move it. Even so, an officer was watching him. Kevin walked over to the man.
"Sir," he said, "are you all right?"
The man started, as if coming out of a trance. He looked at Kevin, who stepped up to the other side of the sawhorse. Kevin noted he was taller than him. He wasn't as tall as Kirkland, but he had a couple inches on the Sergeant.
"Yeah, I guess," the man replied. "I mean ... I can't believe this is happening. You just don't think ... your own backyard."
Kevin nodded. He'd long worried when some random act of violence would put a place he knew into the national spotlight.
"You have a child in there?" he asked.
"No," the man said, shaking his head. "My wife's in there."
Kevin nodded. Still, he had to be sure.
"What's her name?" he asked.
"Andi Defesne," the man replied.
Though Kevin had suspected this, he wasn't prepared with a response. He was used to dealing with armed individuals, not family members of the innocents trapped in the crosshairs.
"You married?" the man asked.
"Yes," Kevin replied.
"You got kids?"
"Two boys."
Kevin was glad his family didn't live in this district.
"Mr. Defesne ..." he began
"Marshall," the man said. "Marshall Shaffer. My wife kept her maiden name."
Kevin nodded.
"We're doing everything we can to keep everyone safe," he said, "including your wife."
Marshall was looking at his feet, clad in thick winter boots. Kevin considered how the predicted snowfall hadn't come yet. Another unexpected element of this day.
"Mr. Shaffer," he said, "it's not good for you to be here. Please, go home. Go to Scraggy Hill. If you want, leave your contact information with an officer. We'll update you as soon as we can."
Marshall looked at him again.
"We just had our usual morning," he said. "Both of us thinking about our own things and plans and such. If I'd known what was coming for her ..."
"You can't think like that," Kevin interjected. "That will make things worse for you. Please, go wait at Scraggy Hill."
He knew he had to leave it here. Without another word, he turned and headed back to the Mobile Command Center.
* * *
"Where were we?" John asked. "Right. Roxbury. You grow up in the projects there, you're already ten points behind everyone else."
Andi could hear him inhaling deeply through his nose. This topic was agitating him. She tried to think of something to calm him again.
"I tried," John continued. "I tried to play by the rules society allowed me to know about. I made it through high school and community college. I got a good job and a better place to live over in West End."
He paused again.
"You know the best part?" he asked, sounding agitated. "I had a woman. A great woman. A nurse at the hospital where I worked. She was from Mission Hill. We had it all when she decides to end it, right out of nowhere.
Andi was desperate to make him stop. He seemed liable to start shooting for the heck of it.
"Next thing I know," John said,, "she's seeing this orthodontist. And she still won't talk to me, not even to explain why she ended things with me. She won't even let me come to her apartment to get my stuff. She says she'll 'mail it'. I'm still waiting for that to happen."
His voice was shaking now. All of a sudden, he whirled around and pounded his fist on Andi's desk, his breaths coming out in short bursts through gritted teeth. Everyone jumped and a few students whimpered.
"Then," he continued, "she goes to the police and tells them I broke in and beat up her and her new boy toy. I'm hauled to jail and lose my job and apartment because I'm not around to show up for my shifts or to pay rent. She gets to tell everyone this lie and they, the cops, the judge, and the prosecutor, go along with it without any evidence. How is that fair?!"
"You were going to plead guilty," Andi said. She'd long figured out exactly who John was, having seen the news about his violent escape. While terrified, a part of her brain suggested that, if this man were going to kill any of them, he'd have done so already. Maybe she could help him see some reason.
"I had no choice," John growled. "Even that so-called lawyer they gave me thought I did it. He wasn't going to find a way out. I was looking at a life sentence when the prosecutor offered me the fifteen years."
He stopped talking and was just breathing. Each breath was long, sounding like an engine which kept winding up and down. Andi remained frozen in her seat.
"Teach them something," John said.
"What?" Andi asked, confused.
"You're a teacher. Teach them something!"
John swung an arm at her but missed by about ten feet. Nevertheless, Andi's heart skipped a beat. She wasn't going to question him again.
She racked her brain, trying to focus on something to teach.
"Emm," she said, "last time, we were talking about ... about how some numbers are greater ... o ... or less than other numbers ..."
"Stand up," John interjected.
"Excuse me?" Andi asked before she could stop herself. Her heart raced again. Would he try to hit her again?
"What kind of lazy teacher just sits there and rambles?" John asked. "Trust me, I've had those kinds of teachers, and I didn't like them. Stand up, use the board, and do your job."
"O ... okay."
Her legs shaking, Andi rose and stepped towards the whiteboard. She grabbed a marker, hoping she could do this well enough with her hampered vision.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Phillip Caulder: principal of the Ellison Elementary School. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Kevin watched the caravan of black sedans and SUVs pull into the parking lot. About two dozen individuals stepped out and approached the Mobile Command Center.
Kevin sighed. They'd been at this for about four hours. Now, it would become complicated.
"Who's in charge here?" a tall, African American man in a navy-blue suit asked. He had short black hair and piercing brown eyes, currently narrowed as he studied Kevin.
"I am," Lieutenant Cruz said, coming up behind Kevin. "Lieutenant Aldo Cruz, Suffolk County Police Department."
"Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance, FBI," the man said, presenting his badge and credentials. "I'm from the Boston field office."
Keeping a strict poise which hinted at a military background, Nance introduced the rest of the group. Some were also from the Boston FBI office while a few had come up from Washington. In addition, there were representatives from the Boston and Watertown Police Departments and several state and county agencies in that area. The dizzying array also included more federal representatives from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, The U.S. Marshals Service, and the United State Attorney's Office for the District of Massachusetts
"That's quite a lineup," Lieutenant Cruz remarked in an unimpressed tone.
"The situation warrants it," Nance replied. "A lot of manpower has already gone into this case. Look at the carnage this man has already left in his wake. Six people dead, another six plus wounded, and countless terrorized citizens. Now, we've got this mess."
He gestured at the school building behind Kevin and Lieutenant Cruz.
"Have you established contact with him?" he asked.
"We have," Lieutenant Cruz said. "This is Sergeant Kevin Greer. He's been leading the negotiations."
"What progress have you made?" Nance asked, looking at Kevin for the first time.
"It's been slow," Kevin admitted. "Kirkland does not want to talk. He's been making this up from the beginning. He never had a plan in place and probably never intended to do this."
"Well, it's done. And it needs to be undone now. John Kirkland needs to answer for what he did."
Nance studied the Mobile Command Center.
"You've got a hard line into the classroom?" he asked.
"Yes," Kevin confirmed.
"Divisional SWAT's on the scene?"
"They got here a little over an hour ago."
"Let's give Mr. Kirkland a call. HRT's mobilizing and waiting for the word to get on a plane at Quantico. He's got one more chance to surrender peacefully."
Nance paused, considering.
"Let's see if we can bring him down with SWAT alone," he said.
"You'll never be able to get in there without endangering almost two dozen lives," Kevin Objected.
But Nance was already stepping onto the bus, Lieutenant Cruz behind him. Sighing, Kevin followed the pair, trying to come up with a way to calm down the newcomers.
Nance recognized which phone was designated for calling into the classroom. He turned to Kevin.
"Make the call," he commanded.
Kevin thought about pointing out that he didn't answer to this FBI agent. He decided not to. Things were already tense enough.
He walked over to the phone and hit two buttons, assuming the FBI man would want to hear everything. They all listened as the long tones indicated the phone at the other end was ringing.
"What?" a gruff voice answered over the speakerphone.
Kevin recognized this was Kirkland. He also realized the man picked up the phone's receiver this time. He couldn't hear as much background noise as he had during the previous calls.
His heart hammered in his chest as various implications raced through his head. Was everyone all right? Was someone hurt? Was someone dead? Why was Kirkland suddenly not letting him hear the room or let the students and their teacher hear him.
All Kevin knew for sure was that he needed to speak.
"Hello, John," he said.
"What do you want?" Kirkland asked. "We're busy."
"The FBI are here, John. They're ready to end this. It's time to act."
Kevin hoped the man hadn't acted already. They hadn't heard any gunfire coming from the classroom, but they wouldn't hear if he'd strangled or smothered somebody. After all, he'd pistol whipped his ex-girlfriend after his gun jammed during the break-in which got him arrested.
"Oh, yeah?" Kirkland remarked, sounding curious. "Let me talk to them."
"John Kirkland," Nance said, stepping closer to the phone and adopting the most authoritative tone he seemed to have available. "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance from the Bureau's Boston Field Office."
Kirkland made a noise, seeming to acknowledge this.
"You need to understand the situation," Nance continued. "A lot of people have been effected by what you've done. There needs to be justice. We are giving you one chance to surrender peacefully."
"Or what?" Kirkland asked. "You'll storm the room to take me down? How would you accomplish that? How many of these kiddies would get hurt? How many could I shoot before your boys get to me or get off a shot?"
There was a pause. Kevin glanced at Nance. The agent was keeping his composure, though his expressionless face seemed rigid, like he was forcing this neutral reaction.
"You and I know you don't have a clear shot at me," Kirkland continued. "Your justice system might be able to railroad an innocent black man, but you think you can get away with allowing a bunch of white kids and their pretty teacher to die? Oh, you'll have your paperwork to justify yourselves, but do you think that'll make the news stories any more pleasant?"
"What are your intentions?" Nance asked, still looking rigid.
"All I ever wanted to do was live my life ... go to work, come home, maybe to a family, hang out with friends, catch a game ... I had all that going before you cowboys broke that up. Now, I'm fighting back. Hurts, doesn't it?"
Without waiting for an answer, Kirkland hung up, leaving them listening to the long dial tone.
"You okay?" Kevin asked, looking at the FBI agent.
Nance waved a hand.
"I want closer surveillance on that room," he said. "We'll send SWAT into the building. They won't act, but they'll be ready when the time comes."
"Are you okay?" Kevin repeated.
"Yeah," Nance replied in a gruff tone, sounding similar to Kirkland.
Behind him, Kevin noticed a television was tuned to a news channel. It was one of the national outlets and they were announcing an upcoming interview with Kayla James, Kirkland's ex-girlfriend. The photo on the screen showed the woman with a long, prominent scar on her cheek. No doubt about where that came from.
* * *
John put down the receiver and looked at Andi, who stood frozen by the whiteboard, her arm raised. She'd been halfway through writing "0" on the board when the phone rang.
"Keep going," John instructed. He went back to an empty desk on the far side of the room and resumed leaning against it like he'd done after she'd begun teaching.
"S ... so ..." Andi said as she finished writing on the board. "In this case, twenty-seven is less than thirty, so we use the less-than sign. See how it points?"
She thought she saw a hand go up, not believing someone might have a question.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Why doesn't the thirty go first?" a boy asked. "The bigger number went first the other times."
"G ... good question. It doesn't matter which number goes first. The greater-than or less-than signs can be used no matter what order the numbers are in."
Andi wished she could tell which of her students was speaking, but this was impossible without her glasses. She knew some of their voices by heart, but to memorize them all would never happen.
She recalled how, in the last two years of doing this lesson, she'd enjoyed springing the next part on her students. If she got out of this alive, she could probably never do that again.
Andi picked up the eraser and wiped the board, not sure if she was removing everything she'd written. She glanced at her desk, wishing she had her glasses.
"Ho ... ow about this?" she asked.
She wrote "50" and "50" on the board.
"Which do you guys think is greater?" she asked and waited, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn't tried to prompt anyone for an answer since beginning this lesson. What would John do if no one answered? She wished she hadn't done this. But it was too late to take it back. She waited.
Nobody moved or spoke. Andi tried her best to see what the students were doing, unsure if she saw a raised hand. She glanced at her desk again, really wanting her glasses.
"Mrs. Defesne?" someone asked.
Andi withheld a sigh of relief. Whether this student had an answer or a question, she was happy to keep things moving.
"Yes?" she asked.
"They're equal," the boy said.
Andi's heart soared.
"Yes," she said, "they are equal. So, what sign would we put between them since they are equal."
Again, there was silence. Andi waited again, hoping she wasn't sweating. They had to know this. She might have not explicitly taught this to them, but they would have seen this sign on every math problem since they started school. Come on, she pleaded in her head.
"The equals sign?" the student asked.
"Yes," Andi said.
As she drew the sign between the two numbers, hoping it was lined up with the digits, she thought she'd need to see a cardiologist if she ever got out of this room.
"Nice job," someone remarked.
Andi turned to see John standing up straight again. He was looking at something on the ceiling or high up on the wall.
"It's almost 1:30," he said. "Anyone hungry?"
Andi supposed he'd been looking at the clock. She hadn't realized what time it was. Since this all started, the seconds alternated between creeping and speeding by as she tried to figure a way out for herself and the students.
A few students murmured they were hungry. Andi wondered what John had in mind. Would he let them go if they were hungry?
"How many of you brought lunch?" John asked.
Nobody moved or spoke. John looked at Andi and she got the message. She didn't need to see well to understand.
"How many of you brought lunch?" she surveyed.
She supposed about a quarter of the class raised their hands.
"Let's see what you've got and divide it up," John said.
Andi couldn't believe what she was hearing. But she knew she had no choice.
"If you brought lunch, bring it up to my desk," she instructed.
She listened to the shuffling as several students moved to obey. She also noticed John moving towards the door. She wondered if he thought someone would try and escape. She wondered if any of the students considered trying to escape. She shuddered as she thought about the bloodbath this might cause.
To her relief, nobody tried anything. Soon, about half a dozen lunchboxes, bags, and brown paper sacks stood on her desk.
"Everyone," John said, "back in your seats."
Without a word, the students returned to their seats.
"What about you?" John asked, looking at Andi.
"I ... I just brought a sandwich and a bottle of water," Andi replied. "Tuna on rye."
It was really half a sandwich, left over from when she'd picked up something to eat at the deli the previous afternoon.
"Go get them," John instructed, "and only them."
Andi dug into her handbag and withdrew the plastic package and water bottle, wishing her spare glasses were in the handbag.
"Let's see what we've got," John said.
Stuffing his gun into his pocket, he laid out everything in the boxes, bags and sacks. Andi could identify more sandwiches, some juice boxes, another water bottle, a couple bananas, and various snack foods.
John grabbed a bag of chips and pocketed it. He then withdrew a pocketknife. Andi's heart froze. She'd never considered him having another weapon. She stood, frozen in place, as he studied the food and began cutting the sandwiches.
She'd never considered that this man, who'd forced his way into their room and their lives, threatening violence, actually might care, at least enough to feed them. Or, maybe, it was a way for him to control them. She couldn't be sure.
John walked around the room, giving everyone a small portion of a sandwich.
"This isn't what I brought," one boy complained.
"Too bad," John replied. "I'm not running a restaurant. Eat it."
"But ..." the boy protested.
John stepped back over to him, raising his gun.
"Don't!" Andi cried.
John was breathing deeply again. He was agitated again.
"Let me make myself clear," he said. "I'm in charge here. You eat what I give you. That's the way it works."
The boy recoiled and fell silent. Nobody else objected either.
"Sit," John said, returning to Andi's desk. He slapped a piece of sandwich down in front of her.
Andi sat and ignored the food.
"You don't want it?" John asked.
"I'm not hungry," Andi explained. Even though she'd had a light breakfast with her coffee, she wasn't hungry.
John shrugged.
* * *
With the aid of some cups and napkins Andi kept in a cabinet in the back of the classroom, John divided the remaining food and drinks. Andi continued to refuse anything left in front of her, but she was thankful the kids were eating. It did sicken her when she realized how subdued they sounded in comparison to the general chatter she heard whenever she walked past the school cafeteria.
Digging into the bag of chips he'd commandeered, John leaned against the board near where Andi was sitting. She hoped he wasn't leaning against anything she'd written. Finding marker stains on his clothes probably wouldn't make him happy.
"Sorry about the 'pretty teacher crack earlier," he said between devouring chips. "And for calling you 'Ginger'."
"It's okay," Andi replied in a low voice. He had plenty more to apologize for, but she wouldn't push it. She couldn't believe he felt the need to apologize for anything.
"You're a good teacher," John remarked. "You care and all that."
Andi didn't know what to say. Were they supposed to be having a conversation?
John sighed.
"I never meant for this to happen," he said. "It just ... did, and I got in too deep to stop it."
Andi wondered about this. What did he mean? Did he not want to be in this situation any more than she did?
She thought about pointing out the obvious. He could let them go and surrender. But she couldn't work up the nerve to say it. She blinked away tears as she realized she was being a coward again. She thought about Chris and hurried to erase that image from her mind.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Kevin didn't like it, but he had no choice. The FBI and their out-of-state counterparts were all in agreement on it and even Lieutenant Cruz wasn't raising objections. Even Vince Dodson, the leader of the Divisional SWAT Team, seemed to be on the opposing side, a far cry from his friendly introduction where he indicated an intent for cooperation.
So, standing by the Mobile Command Center, Kevin could only watch as half a dozen armed and armored members of the FBI's Divisional SWAT Team entered the Ellison Elementary School building through its front doors, Dodson in the lead. They would make their way to the hallway outside Andi Defesne's classroom and take up positions in the doorways of the adjacent, empty rooms. At the first sign of trouble, they would move in and take Kirkland down by force. Kevin feared what the cost of such a maneuver would be. As soon as the SWAT Team breached that classroom door, Kirkland was sure to start shooting. Even if he only got off one or two shots before they got him, the price would be too high.
Kevin glanced at Nance. The FBI agent looked as rigid as ever. Kevin didn't fault him for anything. He was keeping his emotions out of his decision-making. Kevin was doing this as well and it was logic that told him a confrontation would lead to a bloodbath ... logic and experience.
The interview with Kayla James had aired a few minutes ago. In it, the woman, with a long, broad scar running down the left side of her face from Kirkland's attack, described her ex-boyfriend as "loving but controlling."
"John could be the sweetest guy in the world," she'd elaborated, "but it was always on John's terms."
She confirmed this was why she had left him. She did express shock over what Kirkland had done, having never believed he'd be capable of such violence.
"It goes beyond what he did to me and Eric," she said, referring to her current boyfriend, who was still recovering from taking a bullet in the lung from Kirkland. "I just ... they're innocent people."
It was clear who she stood with.
Kevin's musings were interrupted when another federal agent approached Nance and handed him a sheet of paper.
"What's that?" Kevin asked as Lieutenant Cruz also took interest.
"Report from the VIN number of the dark-green Chrysler SUV Kirkland drove," Nance explained while skimming the document.
"When did you run that?"
"Just a few minutes ago. We got a warrant to enter the vehicle after receiving your report about it."
Kevin was irked by how casual the agent was sounding as he relayed this sequence of events.
"When were you planning on sharing any of this with us?" Lieutenant Cruz demanded, echoing Kevin's thoughts.
"You know now," Nance replied, frowning. "And you obviously don't know the political implications of this situation. Nothing can be overlooked."
Kevin was about to respond that they would have traced the SUV back to its owner when the hostage situation was resolved. The armed man inside the school took priority. But something else took priority in his thought process.
"What political implications?" he asked.
This couldn't be about gun control. The FBI wouldn't take this sort of interest for something people would spend a few weeks discussing on the news while politicians got nowhere on the matter.
"That teacher in the classroom," Nance said. "You have any idea who she is?"
"No," Kevin admitted, figuring this response might get him a straight answer.
"You ever hear of Oren Fischer?" Nance asked. "Associate Justice Oren Fischer on the United States Supreme Court? Appointed twenty-four years ago?"
Kevin was sure he'd heard the name. He watched the news. But he couldn't place this man in any topic he'd followed.
"His record on the bench has been pretty unremarkable," Nance continued. "A lot of bland concurrences with whichever side he's on and a few majority or dissenting opinions in unremarkable cases. Probably the safest judicial appointment in political history."
None of this was helping Kevin with recognizing the name in a manner he seemed to be expected to. He knew the law. He was a police officer, so he had to know the law. But he didn't specifically seek out legal news to digest and follow in his spare time. Home repair shows were his vice.
"But," Nance continued, "twenty-three years ago, his daughter, son-in-law, and grandson were shot and killed in their home in Pennsylvania. There was one survivor in the massacre."
It didn't take any leaps and bounds for Kevin to realize who the survivor was.
"Andi Defesne," he said.
Nance nodded.
"She was seven at the time," he explained. "Justice Fischer was barely a year in on the bench when he took her in. He raised that girl, and he's taken an interest in what's going on here. The Director got the first phone call just minutes after we found out what was going on here."
Now Kevin understood.
"He wants his granddaughter out of there alive," he concluded.
Nance nodded again.
"He hasn't made it explicit yet," he said, "but he's keeping an eye on things and he wants us to know it. His career may have been quiet, but he's still got friends in D.C."
"But at what cost do we satisfy him?" Lieutenant Cruz asked.
Nance stood still, not having an answer.
"What did you find out from the SUV's VIN number?" Lieutenant Cruz asked, recognizing how dwelling on the political implications would get them nowhere.
Nance sighed and showed them the information.
"It does get worse," he said, sounding truly disheartened.
* * *
Standing well inside the empty classroom, Vince Dodson watched the door. He couldn't see what was happening in the hallway outside, at least not what he wanted to see, but that was okay for now. His people had things under control. One sign of trouble and two of them would emerge from the classrooms on either side of Andi Defesne's room, ready to take down Kirkland. Ten feet in front of Dodson, Special Agent Craig Dennis was prepared to emerge from this room, his pistol gripped in his hand. He looked like a Jack-in-the-Box which was waiting for its handle to be turned just a bit further.
But all was quiet. Dodson almost wished Kirkland would emerge from the adjacent room and spark such a confrontation. It would end things quickly. He hated waiting.
Craig Dennis flinched and Dodson watched him closely. Then, another figure, dressed in FBI body armor, crawled into the room. Once across the threshold, the figure rose to her feet and flipped up the visor on her helmet.
"No good," Special Agent Rakhee Spencer reported. "He stuffed something in the crack beneath the door ... looks like paper of some kind. We can't use a snake unless we move some of it aside."
Dodson nodded. A small camera on a long cable was standard issue for the FBI's Divisional SWAT Teams. They could be slipped in through the cracks beneath locked doors and similar tight spaces and give the team a good look at the room, the hostages, and the hostage taker. They were easy to maneuver, giving a three hundred and sixty degree perspective with most people inside such rooms never catching on to their presence.
But it looked like this hostage taker had considered such a maneuver and had prepared a countermove. There would be no eyes in that room for the FBI and local authorities this time.
Being as quiet as they could and using hand signals, the team had already used FLUR, Forward-looking infrared. Their system was able to penetrate the thick brick wall separating the classroom from the hallway and they saw blurred shapes of small people, presumably the students, sitting in relatively neat rows. Towards the front of the classroom were two larger shapes, one sitting and one standing. Though this hadn't told them much, it did suggest no one was hurt and that the hostage taker was near the classroom door.
They knew from the local police that one of the first responding officers had tried the doorknob hours ago, finding it was locked. Without being able to get a camera in that room, Dodson was reluctant to try and breach it. The risk of young collateral damage was too high.
"Were you able to hear anything?" he asked.
"Some muffled voices," Rakhee Spencer replied. "Nothing I could make out."
Dodson glanced at his laptop, which he'd set up on this room's vacated teacher's desk. His screen showed the building's blueprints, which the Suffolk County Police were able to obtain and e-mail to him. The documents also included some related information, including the thickness of the walls and doors. In the wake of the shooting at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut, more emphasis had been placed on safety and security when school buildings were erected or renovated. The walls were made of stone covered by sheetrock and few bullets could penetrate them. The doors didn't look it, but they too could sustain a certain level of artillery fire. Problem was, this also made it harder for sound to get through. For now, the best option seemed to be for the hostage negotiator to talk John Kirkland into coming out of that room.
* * *
After the students ate, John had Andi start teaching again while assuming the same leaning position against the empty desk. She had switched to Social Studies and was talking about the aftermath of the Civil War.
"Now, why do you think states like New York were able to recover quickly after the war was over?" she quizzed.
"They helped free the slaves," a girl said.
"They did do that, but that's not why they were able to recover quicker than the southern states. Remember, the war was fought mostly in the south, so there was a lot more damage done there. The south had a lot to rebuild."
She heard a snort and looked at John, not sure what to say.
"Didn't stop them from oppressing us," John remarked. "Are you going to tell them about that? About the scams, poverty, rapes, and all that?"
Andi wished she had never brought this topic up and she didn't know how to steer away from it now.
"It's still happening," John continued. "That's how I got to be where I'm at. Nobody believed my side of the story. They were oppressing me, and I had no choice."
He stood up straight again and walked around Andi's desk. He began punching keys on her computer keyboard but soon became frustrated.
"What's your password?" he demanded.
"Catsnack12," Andi replied. "The 'C' is capitalized."
She would change that if she ever set foot in this room again.
John punched in the password and pulled up the Internet.
"Time you all understood what I had to do," he said as he moved the mouse across its pad, clicking every so often.
He turned the screen around so everyone could see. He'd gone to a news website and was starting a live stream. A blonde reporter was facing the camera, police cars behind him.
"We have breaking news regarding the hostage situation in progress on Long Island," he was saying. "Authorities in New Haven, Connecticut, have linked John Kirkland, the prime suspect in yesterday's shooting at a courthouse in Boston, to another attack that occurred early this morning. Chief Deputy U.S. Marshal Joseph Shaw was shot while investigating a possible burglar at his home at about 5:00 this morning."
A photo of a man with graying hair appeared in one corner of the screen.
"Deputy Shaw is a senior Marshal assigned to the federal courthouse in New Haven," the reporter continued. "His wife, Eleanor, was also shot and police say the deputy's dark-green Chrysler SUV is missing. The Shaws were rushed to the hospital and are reported to be in critical condition. John Kirkland also remains the prime suspect in the carjacking and double homicide of Patrick Fahey and Mallory Whiteson in Watertown and the ambush-style killing of Boston Police Officer Richard Queenan. Authorities have also linked Kirkland to six additional robberies and carjacking's throughout Boston and two attempted kidnappings in the wake of yesterday's shooting and escape."
The scene switched to a newsroom, where a news anchor sat behind a desk.
"Thank you, Brian," the anchor said. "And later this hour, we will speak live with Nathan Whiteson, the father of Mallory Whiteson. Mallory and Patrick Fahey were visiting the Whiteson home in Watertown for dinner and had just left when they were confronted and killed. Friends and family members confirm the pair was in a relationship. Both were students at Northeastern University in Boston."
"Turn it off," Andi demanded, feeling tears welling up again. "Don't show them more."
To her surprise, John complied, closing the webpage.
"H ... how could you? Andi asked as uncontrollable tears ran down her cheeks. "How could you do this to all these people?"
"You think you have it all figured out?" John asked. "You know nothing. The kid in Watertown came at me. I was defending myself. My shot went wide and hit the girl. The guy went wild. Landed two hard punches on my face. I had to defend myself. No one else was going to."
Andi tried to study his face. She couldn't recall having seen any bruises earlier, but without her glasses, she couldn't be sure. If Patrick Fahey's punches were as hard as John claimed, there had to be bruises. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since it happened. There had to be bruises.
"Same thing with the Marshal," John continued. "He wanted to bring me in dead. I was ready to give up, but he had his gun out and aimed at me. He would have killed me if I hadn't acted. And his wife ... she came out and picked up his gun. She would have shot me too. I figured no one would believe my side like before, so I got out of there the quickest way I could think to."
"And the police officer?" Andi asked, remembering the phrase "ambush-style killing" from the news report.
John didn't say anything.
"It has to end," Andi insisted. "How many more people have to get hurt before it does?"
John seemed to consider this.
"Sit down," he said after a few seconds. "I'm done talking."
As Andi walked back to her desk and sat, she thought she saw a hand go up.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Mrs. Defesne," a boy said, "I gotta go to the bathroom."
"Yeah," another boy added. "Me, too."
Andi looked at John.
* * *
Everyone jumped when the phone inside the Mobile Command Center rang. Kevin hurried to answer it, Nance and Lieutenant Cruz right behind him.
"Hello," Kevin said. "John?"
"Yeah," Kirkland's voice said over the speakerphone.
"Listen," Kevin said. "We can't continue this standoff. We need to move towards a resolution."
"I bet we have different ideas of how we want to end this."
"How do you want to end this?"
"I want to drive down an open road ... just me. I want to be left alone. I want to leave all this behind me."
Kevin thought he could see Nance seething. The agent seemed to be gritting his teeth. Kevin turned his attention back to the phone.
"You know that can't happen," he said. "Not like that."
"What do you want then?" Kirkland asked. "You wanna find a way to put me on a gurney? Lock me up in some dark hole and forget about me? It doesn't work that way for me."
"Keep doing what you are doing and you won't be able to negotiate anymore," Kevin advised. "The longer we are in this stalemate, the more likely it will be that we are authorized to end it by force."
"You willing to take that risk?" Kirkland asked.
"I want to end this."
That was the best Kevin could do.
"Well, forget that for now," Kirkland said. "I've got two boys in here who need to take a leak. The teacher tells me the bathroom's at the end of the hall. Think I can send them out and back without you guys trying something?"
Kevin was about to reply when Kirkland continued speaking.
"Let me put it like this," he elaborated. "Those boys have five minutes from when they step out the door here. They're not back by then, I start shooting."
Kevin knew he had to take this threat seriously. Kirkland had at least three guns and extra magazines which he took from the court officers in Boston and the Marshal in New Haven. He had plenty of firepower.
"I'll be sending them out in two minutes," Kirkland said. "Get your priorities in order by then."
The subsequent click and long tone indicated he'd hung up.
* * *
"You get five minutes," John reminded the boys, who were now standing by the classroom door. "You're not back by then, your class will be a lot smaller."
Still seated at her desk, Andi couldn't think of anything to say. She was sure the boys were staring at her for guidance. She didn't know how to give them any.
She felt as helpless as the night her family died. She'd heard her parents arguing and hadn't intervened. She hadn't stopped her brother when he went to investigate. And, when she heard the bangs, she hid under her bed until a police officer guided her out of the house and away from the horror.
Others had made all the decisions then, but there was no one to do this for her now. John certainly didn't count.
Andi looked at the boys and took a deep breath, willing herself not to show fear, even as her mind again flashed back to that dark closet.
"Go," was all she could say. She sat, slumped in her chair, as John unlocked and opened the door and directed the boys out, relocking it behind them.
"They're not coming back," another boy remarked from his seat. "They'll run outside. They are not coming back."
"They'll be back," John said. "They know what's coming if they don't."
A girl whimpered.
"They're not coming back," the boy repeated with confidence.
"What'll happen to us?" the girl asked.
John snickered.
Still slumped in her seat, Andi evaluated the circumstances. Her vision still poor, she could only guess who the boys were. Travis and Michael. She couldn't recall either of them standing out in terms of being shy or outgoing.
"They should run," someone said. "That's what I would do."
"Guess you won't be getting a bathroom break anytime soon," John remarked.
Andi considered this exchange. Being honest with herself, she thought that, if she had the chance, she too would run. She hated herself for thinking that way ... for abandoning her class like that. Letting out a long breath, she stared at her desk.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBI�¢??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Patrick Fahey: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Mallory Whiteson: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
"We need to get them," Nance insisted. "As soon as they come out of the bathroom, someone gets them out of the building."
He'd agreed to ensure that the Divisional SWAT Team members in the classrooms adjacent to Andi Defesne's remained hidden so the two boys wouldn't see them during their trek to the bathroom. He'd made these instructions explicit when Vince Dodson objected over the radio. But that was as far as he was prepared to go.
Kevin thought he wasn't wrong. Problem was, he wasn't right either.
"If those boys don't come back, Kirkland starts shooting," he rebutted. "We all know he's capable of killing. We've got six bodies to prove that."
The two of them, along with Lieutenant Cruz, were in the Mobile Command Center, still trying to agree on their next move.
"We cannot put those boys back in that room," Nance insisted. "I'm not even worried how that looks from a PR perspective. We just ... can't do it."
He paused.
"We can save at least two of them," he added.
Kevin did not want to hear this.
"This cannot become a minimal loss scenario," he said. "No one in that room is expendable."
"Then SWAT goes in before the clock runs out," Nance proposed. "Kirkland might have left the door unlocked for the boys to come back."
Kevin shook his head.
"I had a situation once," he said. "Guy held his ex-girlfriend hostage in her apartment. Our guys decide to go in. You know what happened? As we were breaching the front door, he shot her and injured the first two guys going in before we could take him out."
He took a deep breath.
"I remember that girl," he said. "She was twenty years old ... a college sophomore. I knew the risks going in and I still let it happen. I cannot put these kids in the same situation."
"You said it yourself," Nance reminded him. "We can't keep going like this. We need to make a move. Show Kirkland we're serious."
"Assuming our guys or yours could breach the classroom before Kirkland harms anyone, we do not have enough time to prepare," Lieutenant Cruz pointed out. "We're already three minutes in on the five-minute window Kirkland gave us."
"So, what do we do?" Nance asked. "Let these boys go back in there and start over?"
Both Kevin and Lieutenant Cruz noticed he was starting to crack. His voice was wavering.
"They're kids," Nance said. "This isn't supposed to happen to them. We have a chance to act."
Kevin nodded.
"How old are your kids?" he asked.
Nance's eyes narrowed.
"Seven," he said. "Twin girls. They are not part of this. I can remain professional. But we've all seen too many dead kids. I was studying at Yale when Sandy Hook happened. I won't forget those news reports anytime soon."
"We're getting nowhere like this," Lieutenant Cruz said. "We need to come up with a strategy now. And it has to be one we can all stand behind."
* * *
"You ready?" Travis asked as Michael finished drying his hands and threw out the soaked paper towel. Mrs. Defesne always insisted they wash their hands when they went to the bathroom. She always seemed to know if they hadn't and would send them back to do this. No one could ever figure out how she knew.
The redheaded Michael stared at the sandy-haired Travis without moving. His eyes then shifted towards the door, the only way in or out of this bathroom. Then, he nodded.
The boys exited the bathroom and paused. They stared down towards the door of their classroom. They could see it's broken window.
"Do we have to go back?" Michael asked in a small voice.
"He told us to come back," Travis pointed out, his volume not much higher.
"Do we still have to?"
"Are you scared?"
Michael didn't answer, instead staring down at his green sneakers. Travis opened his mouth, intending to illustrate how scared he looked, but no words came. His eyes darted between the door to their classroom and the empty hallway leading away from it. They could turn right instead of left.
"What are you doing?" Michael asked, looking at Travis again.
Travis shook his head. He wouldn't answer. He wouldn't admit he was scared.
Then, a figure appeared in the hallway between them and the door to their classroom. The figure was coming towards them. The boys froze, thinking the large man had come out to find them.
"Hey," the figure said.
The boys' eyes widened. This didn't sound like the large man. This sounded like a woman.
"Hi there," the figure said, stopping and flipping up the mask she had over her face. "My name's Rakhee. Are you guys okay?"
The boys studied her. She was smiling, but she was still a stranger.
"I'm with the FBI," Rakhee said, pulling something out of the pocket of her weird uniform. It looked very bulky.
"We're a special kind of police," she explained, showing them her gold badge. "You can trust me."
Both boys stared at the badge until she put it away again.
"Come with me," she said. She was keeping her voice down to a whisper.
The boys looked at one another.
"We're supposed to go back," Travis replied. "He said ..."
"It's okay," Rakhee said. "I'm going to take you out of here."
"What about our friends?" Michael asked, glancing past her towards the door of their classroom.
"My friends will help your friends."
Rakhee pushed back the sleeve of her bulky uniform and checked her watch.
"Come on," she insisted. "We need to go."
The boys glanced at one another again and followed her in the opposite direction from their classroom.
* * *
Vince Dodson was a good marine. He'd served tours in both Afghanistan and Iraq, being awarded a Silver Star for heroism after he and a hastily-assembled team ambushed a group of insurgents who'd captured two other marines.
But there was the one incident which nearly got him kicked out of the Corps. Still a private then, he'd gotten into a serious brawl with another Marine ... over a girl of all things. Dodson now laughed over this cliché.
But, it hadn't been funny then. The other Marine, also a Private, was the son of a Brigadier general who liked to throw his weight around. If the General had gotten his way, Dodson would have received a Bad Conduct Discharge. But a Sergeant Major stood up for him, citing his year of exemplary service, and Dodson instead got sixty days of cleaning the head outside the mess at Camp Lejeune. He never did anything to warrant a superior's ire again.
There was an upside to the whole episode. He met the girl again and married her six years later. After all, the other Marine had been making alcohol-induced, borderline sexist remarks in a misguided attempt to impress her.
When he first heard about the two boys who were being allowed to leave the classroom to use the bathroom, Dodson had volunteered one of his people to intercept them before they went back. But his boss for the time being, Seth Nance from Boston, had vetoed the idea. Dodson had objected, citing the lunacy of allowing those boys back into the clutches of John Kirkland. His objections were noted, but the decision was final.
Dodson kept himself, Rakhee Spencer, and Craig Dennis out of sight when the two boys passed the classroom they were stationed in. He'd caught a glimpse of the tiny figures from behind and froze, just staring. He couldn't visualize them coming back the other way. It just wasn't right.
"This stinks," Dennis remarked, echoing Dodson's thoughts. "All due respect, Sir."
Dodson only nodded, already considering to step out of bounds for the second time in his life. All things considered, it had worked out for the best the first time, but the stakes were much higher now. If those boys didn't return, their classmates and their teacher might never make it out. That was over twenty lives, all but one far under the age of twenty. Still, who could let two boys go back towards the danger when there was a chance to steer them away altogether.
He'd just about made up his mind when Seth Nance hailed him again on the radio. The order was quick and clear.
"Get those boys out."
There was no elaboration.
Relieved, Dodson ordered Rakhee Spencer out into the hallway to carry out this new assignment. She didn't hesitate.
Now, watching her return after she'd delivered the boys to the authorities outside, Dodson thought about everyone still in that classroom. For the first time, his mind could process the dangerous situation they might have now been left in.
"Get ready to move," he ordered.
* * *
John stood in the middle of the room, watching the clock. Still seated at her desk, Andi wished she could see it. It felt as though hours had passed since Travis and Michael had left.
"Time's up," John said, causing Andi to jump.
He stomped to the classroom door, unlocked and opened it, and stuck his head out for just a second. He soon drew it back in. He slammed the door shut and locked it again, muttering under his breath. Andi couldn't understand much, but he was angry.
"I told them," he was saying. "I told them. I warned them. Little, arrogant ..."
He looked at Andi.
"Either they're in the bathroom or they're gone," he said. "Either way, time's up ... for them and you."
The phone rang. John turned on the speakerphone.
"What?!" he barked.
"John," the Sergeant, Kevin, said. "We need to talk."
"Do you have them?!" John raged. "Did you let them disobey me and run?"
There was a pause.
"Yes," Kevin said. "We have both boys. They wanted to go back, but my officer insisted they accompany him outside. So, they went with him.
"That was a dumb move," John said, raising his gun.
Andi was certain they were all about to die. She would haunt that cop for every remaining day of his life and thereafter.
"You shoot anyone, it's over," Kevin said. "Your bargaining position is as precarious as ours ... maybe even more. You start shooting, we come in hot. You know what'll happen."
"Maybe I'm ready for it," John hissed.
"That's how you want to go out?" Kevin asked. "Come on. You know that'll never work."
If the cop were desperate, Andi couldn't tell. She didn't know whether to hug or hit him.
"We'll see," John snarled and hung up.
Andi's heart froze as he whirled to face her students.
* * *
In the Mobile Command Center, Kevin stared at the silent phone. Behind him, Nance and Lieutenant Cruz had their radios out, ready to tell the SWAT Teams to move.
John Kirkland's reaction had been like Kevin feared. Though no one was hearing any gunfire yet, that didn't mean it couldn't begin at any second. He wasn't prepared to let the tactical units go in to end this. He was instead hoping his point had resonated. If the man harmed the teacher or any of those kids, he would have nothing left.
The two boys, Travis and Michael, were hustled into a police cruiser and driven to Mather hospital, where they'd be checked out. their parents were being collected at the Edna Louise Spear Elementary School to be taken to the hospital for the reunion. Detectives would also speak to the boys to try to learn more about the situation inside the classroom. Kevin hoped there would be time for their information to be useful.
* * *
In the classroom, John raised his gun.
"No!" Andi cried. "You can't!"
"Watch me," John growled.
He aimed at the kids, moving the muzzle from one tiny head to the next. Some of them began whimpering while others cried.
"I warned you," John muttered. "I warned everyone."
"Then shoot me," Andi said. "Shoot me if you have to. Please don't hurt them."
She wasn't thinking anymore. She was just acting. The police would probably barge in if they heard gunfire. If it came to that, she'd take the bullets.
John turned and moved towards her. The gun was soon six inches from her head. Andi's heart raced. She wanted to shut her eyes, but she knew she shouldn't. She had to be brave for the kids.
She thought of him. So many years later, she thought of him. He hadn't seen her back then, but his gun had been almost as close, even if it wasn't aimed at her. Again, Andi was sure she was about to die. Again, she fought the urge to cry. Then and now, she understood tears and sobs wouldn't help.
* * *
Vince Dodson led the way out of the classroom, Rakhee Spencer and Craig Dennis close behind him. Further down the hallway, the other three members of the FBI's Divisional SWAT Team emerged and moved forward. No words would be exchanged out here ... just hand signals, nods, and headshakes. Everyone had their Springfield or SIG Sauer pistols raised. The space was too enclosed for rifles.
The two groups approached either side of the classroom door between them. They waited. The door was partially soundproof, so any sound they would hear could only indicate distress. They were ready to react. They'd save who they could.
* * *
In the Mobile Command Center, Kevin picked up the phone.
"What are you doing?" Nance asked, startled.
"He might pick up," Kevin justified. "I'm going to talk to him."
"Are you crazy? You call him now, he'll know we're desperate to get a beat on what is going on in that room. We cannot lose ground now."
Again, Kevin knew the agent wasn't wrong. Problem was, was he right? Scratching his head, he took a deep breath.
* * *
Sitting at her desk, Andi was sure she was about to have a heart attack. But she was determined to stare John down for as long as possible, especially if he kept pointing that gun at her face.
The phone rang again. Keeping his gun pointed at Andi, John glanced at it.
"They want to talk to you," Andi tried. She hoped the sergeant could calm John down and avert bloodshed.
"I don't wanna talk to them," John grumbled. "I don't want to talk anymore. Not to them. Not to you. Not to anyone anymore."
Andi heard a metallic click. Several students gasped. She gritted her teeth, bracing for the shot.
The phone kept ringing in her ears as she thought about Marshall. She'd wanted to kick back with pizza and a movie that evening. Just that morning, she was sure she could talk him into watching The Vow again. Her husband kind of liked Rachael McAdams. They needed to spend more time together.
Suddenly, a new sound penetrated Andi's ears. It took a second before she realized someone was wheezing.
Stacey, a girl with black hair running past her shoulders which somehow always looked too neat for an eight-year-old, had asthma. It seemed the stress of the situation had finally gotten to her.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
He'd turned away from Andi and was looking at the class as the phone kept ringing.
"Stop that," he demanded.
With the gun no longer pointed at her head, Andi could think. She had an inhaler in her desk drawer. She reached for the handle.
"Hey!" John barked, making her jump. "What are you doing?!"
Andi looked up at him. He was pointing his gun at her again. The phone kept ringing.
"She's having an asthma attack," Andi said. "She needs her inhaler."
She remembered him talking about working at a hospital. He had to understand what she was telling him.
"I've been tricked enough today," John said.
"It's not a trick," Andi said, glancing at the drawer again. "I swear, it's not."
"Come on, Man," a boy said. "Let Stacey have her inhaler."
"Shut up!" John barked.
Stacey continued wheezing as tears sprang up in her eyes. Her distress became more and more palpable. Andi tried to think of something she could say to persuade this man to let her help the child. She looked at John again. Maybe she could get him to answer the phone and that would distract him. But he already made it clear he didn't want to talk.
"You have to let me help her," Andi said. "I have to give her the inhaler."
John just stood there, his gun at his side. Stacey's wheezing was now accompanied by random gasps. She was having trouble breathing. And the phone kept ringing.
Andi's heart pounded in her chest, even more than when she thought she was about to die. She glanced at the drawer again. Could she just ignore all the previous warnings and open it to grab the inhaler? She considered if John would shoot her for that. While she'd be willing to take a bullet for her students, she couldn't do so now. If she were dying or dead, who would help Stacey?
Stacey's gasps were becoming more frequent now. Another girl was crying. The ringing phone was becoming more agitating.
"Let her have the inhaler!" a boy demanded.
"Shut up!" John repeated.
He was still just standing there while the phone kept ringing and Stacey kept wheezing and gasping. The whole classroom seemed to become a frozen tableau.
"John!" Andi shouted.
The room grew quiet except for Stacey's gasps and wheezes ... and the ringing phone. Andi had surprised even herself. But she knew she had to keep going.
"She needs her inhaler," she said. "She could suffocate without it."
She was taking deep breaths, trying to remain calm and as clear-headed as possible.
"She could die without it," she said. "Please ... please don't let that happen."
She thought about pointing out that, if Stacey suffocated and died, it would put John in an even more precarious position with the police. It had to be in his best interest to let her help this child. Andi stared at him, willing herself to not blink or cry.
"I need to help her," she said. "Please, let me help her."
John stared back at her. Andi wished she could see his face clearly. Were her words penetrating?
Then, John grumbled something.
"What?" Andi asked.
"Do what you need to do," John said.
Andi needed a second to let these words register. She then considered if this was a trick or a test or something. Then, she kicked herself for succumbing to these distractions. She needed to move.
Andi yanked open the drawer. She took out her glasses case and opened it. She whipped on her spare glasses and pulled out the inhaler.
The room became clear again. Andi could see her students' scared and confused faces. And, she had a clear view of John and his gun. The sight was startling and she paused, absorbing the scene.
"What are you waiting for?" John asked. "What are you trying to pull?"
"No ... nothing," Andi said. She did consider if this were all a trick and that he'd shoot her as soon as she stood up, but she wasn't prepared to wait and figure out if this was the case.
Clutching the inhaler, she sprang to her feet and moved around her desk as fast as she dared. Stacey sat in the second row, third desk in from the window.
"It's okay," Andi said as she approached. "I'm here. You'll be okay."
She crouched down next to the desk and removed the cap from the inhaler's mouthpiece. Confirming it was clear of blockages, she then shook the apparatus vigorously.
"Sit up straight," she told Stacey. "Breathe in and out as best you can. Deep breaths ... in and out."
She watched Stacey's back straighten as she took weak, shaky breaths. They'd been through this before. Andi considered that, if the inhaler didn't work, Stacey would need more medical attention than she could provide. How would she get John to agree to that?
"Just like that," she encouraged, focusing again. "Now, open up."
She guided the inhaler's mouthpiece into Stacey's mouth. When it was in place, she pressed the button to release a dose of Albuterol. Her heart pounded as she worked, but she found herself able to focus.
"Keep breathing," she coached. "As deep as possible."
She waited a few seconds and removed the inhaler.
"Okay," she said. "Hold your breath."
She knew Stacey understood the procedure as well as she did. The child wouldn't question or deviate from her instructions. She waited another few seconds, watching Stacey's face.
"Now," she said, "breathe out slowly."
She watched and listened. Stacey's exhalation still sounded wheezy, but that was normal. Albuterol was fast-acting, not instantaneous.
"Take deep breaths," Andi said. "In and out."
Relief washed over her as the wheezing went away. Stacey would need to be checked out, the school nurse having done this in the aftermath of previous attacks. But, for now, the little girl would be all right.
"You done?" John asked.
The question brought reality back into focus for Andi. She also realized the phone was still ringing.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Vince Dodson and his entire team had heard a single, loud syllable. It had come seconds after Seth Nance gave clear instructions for them not to breach the room until explicitly told to do so. Timing was a funny thing today.
They heard nothing else after that loud syllable. They weren't even sure who said it or what they'd said. Dodson supposed the speaker had been a woman, probably an adult. Silently, he vowed to give the breach order at the next sign of trouble, no matter what.
* * *
"She okay now?" John asked, pointing his gun at Andi while casting an occasional glance in Stacey's direction.
"For now," Andi said, also glancing back at Stacey. The girl was looking down at her desk.
"Good," John said. "Go sit down again."
Andi took slow, deliberate steps. When she reached her desk, she looked at the still-ringing phone.
Then, she heard John grumble something. He stepped forward and shoved her aside. It wasn't a hard shove which might have knocked her off-balance, but it'd been a shove, nonetheless. Startled, Andi watched him pick up the receiver.
"What?!" John asked and then paused, listening. "Everyone's fine. No need to worry about tomorrow's headlines. Now stop calling. And no more tricks."
He slammed the phone down again and glared at Andi.
"Go sit," he demanded, jerking his arm out and pointing at her chair for emphasis.
Andi hesitated.
"Why did you come here?" she asked.
"I ran out of choices," John replied.
Andi found it hard to believe taking them all hostage was his most viable option.
"How is this supposed to end?" she asked. "I mean, we can't go on like this."
John paused before answering.
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I'm not going back into a cell. I can promise you that. And I am not one of those guys willing to face a hail of bullets."
He glared at Andi.
"No more questions," he insisted. "Sit down."
Andi moved around her desk and sat. She retrieved a wet wipe from the drawer, John not objecting to her actions, and wiped down the inhaler's mouthpiece. She then replaced the cap and returned everything to the drawer, pushing it shut with a dull thud.
Andi considered what John had just said. He didn't want to face a hail of bullets. Did this improve their chances at survival?
She studied John, this being her first opportunity to do so with clear vision. He was tall and had a shaved head. His large dark eyes seemed fixed on her. There was some stubble. He probably hadn't shaved since his escape from the courthouse the previous morning.
More importantly, there were no bruises or other injuries on his face.
Andi remembered what John had said about his reason for shooting Patrick Fahey in Watertown. The college student had fought back, becoming more aggressive when his girlfriend was accidently killed by a stray bullet ... at least, that was the account Andi was given by the man holding the gun. Now, seeing John's unblemished face, she had doubts about this version of events. More importantly, she considered how volatile the man really was. Could he have taken the car and avoided killing the couple altogether? He'd managed it before.
And what about all of them in this room? So far, Andi and the students had skated past all disasters. But what could put a finality on all that? How many more lucky misses would they have?
"What happens now?" Andi asked. She needed John to keep thinking forward.
"We all stay quiet for a while," John replied. "Just sit there and keep quiet."
He grabbed a chair and sat, staring at the ceiling, his gun on his lap.
* * *
"Can we take his word for it?" Nance asked.
"You have a better idea?" Kevin retorted.The two men and Lieutenant Cruz were in the Mobile Command Center, reviewing Kevin's last call with Kirkland. Sure, it'd be nice to get some visual confirmation of everyone's wellbeing, but the FBI's Divisional SWAT Team had long confirmed this wasn't possible. Sure, Kirkland might have some device with a camera built in. So many electronic devices also had cameras built in. But Kevin didn't want to ask for a photo and give Kirkland leverage.
"Let's give him a few minutes," he suggested. "Then I'll call back and demand proof everyone's all right ... maybe get him to send someone out."
Nance nodded, considering this. Their group and Kirkland understood the need for the children to remain unharmed. Problem was, without a viable end or a clear idea of Kirkland's plans, everyone's future remained uncertain.
A commotion outside the bus brought all three men out of their thoughts. In single file, they descended the steps to investigate.
A man in a gray suit was arguing with a uniformed patrol officer. The gold badge around this man's neck made it clear how he'd gotten past the barricades.
"Don't you tell me where to go," the man was saying. "I am not leaving until I hear from whoever's running this circus. You got me?"
He moved towards the officer, raising his hands as though to shove him. The officer stood poised to defend himself.
"Hey!" Lieutenant Cruz barked. "Break it up, now!"
The man looked at the lieutenant and, seeing the insignia on his suit, became more composed, his arms relaxing at his sides. The officer relaxed as well, also looking at the lieutenant.
"Who are you?" Lieutenant Cruz demanded.
"Detective David Summers," the man replied, glancing at the Sergeant's stripes on Kevin's uniform while answering the lieutenant. "Vice Division out of the 2nd Precinct."
"What are you doing here, Detective?"
"My son's in that class in there," David Summers explained, gesturing at the school building. "Arnold Summers."
"You're just finding that out now?" Kevin asked, his tone laced with skepticism. This was by far the biggest news item and had been so for the past few hours.
"I've been undercover all day," the detective explained. "Busting internet hookers."
He looked like the middle management type and could probably portray a man with a sleezy quality to fool his targets. He was slightly overweight with short black hair and some stubble that suggested a lousy shaving session.
"I get off-duty and I see my phone," David Summers continued. "Two dozen texts and another eight calls from my wife. What is going on in there?"
He pointed at the school building again.
"We're making progress," Kevin said, supposing that extracting two students from the situation could be called that.
"Progress?" David Summers asked. "Progress would be going in there and pumping this prick full of lead. You know what he's already done. Why are you giving him anything?"
"We do not want to risk anyone's life," Lieutenant Cruz replied.
"By hanging out in your bus and chatting?"
David Summers glared at the Mobil Command Center behind them for emphasis.
"Look, Detective," Lieutenant Cruz said. "You shouldn't be here."
"Yeah, right," David Summers remarked. "I'm not going anywhere until I see some action."
Lieutenant Cruz shook his head.
"I'm extending you a curtesy here," he said. "You're too closely involved and should not be here. Leave now and all this remains a rumor for water coolers."
"Or?" David Summers challenged.
"I write you up for your hostility, regardless of extenuating circumstances."
The detective studied the Lieutenant, the two men looking like they were sizing each other up before a fight.
"Fine," the detective finally said. "Just know this ... I want my son."
"We understand," Kevin offered. "I've got two boys of my own. I couldn't imagine ..."
"Bull. You couldn't understand. I get my son back or, when you blow it, I come back. Anything happens to my son, ranks and write-ups aren't gonna mean a thing."
He patted the holstered pistol on his belt. Kevin glanced at Lieutenant Cruz, wondering if this threat was crossing a line. But the lieutenant wasn't saying anything. He was just glaring.
David Summers walked away without another word, casting a final sharp glance towards the patrol officer he'd been arguing with earlier.
"Forget about him," Lieutenant Cruz told Kevin and Nance, not taking his eyes off the detective's retreating back. "Let's figure out our next move."
* * *
Andi had never seen her kids so quiet. Under the circumstances, she wished they weren't.
She studied John. He was still staring at the ceiling. The class all looked at him, waiting for his next move. He seemed to have calmed down, his breathing slow again. Maybe he wouldn't hold Michael and Travis's escape against them anymore.
Andi glanced over at Stacey. She was being quiet like her classmates. More importantly, she was breathing normally. Still, she ought to see a doctor.
"John?" Andi asked.
"What?" he replied, not sounding angry or curious or anything. He was just responding to her addressing him.
"Would you let someone else go?" Andi tried. She thought she might have gained some compassion from him.
"Why?" John asked, looking at her.
He still didn't sound angry. Andi decided to plow ahead.
"Stacey should see a doctor," she said. "Maybe ... maybe you could let her leave."
Stacey looked up at Andi. John turned his head, studying the raven-haired child.
"She looks fine," he said in a dismissive tone. "Besides, it's not like I've actually let anyone leave."
"She should see a doctor," Andi repeated, trying not to aggravate him by sounding too insistent.
"Want me to get one in here?"
Andi didn't know what to say. On the one hand, it would give Stacey the opportunity to be seen by a medical professional. On the other hand, she would still be in this room and the doctor was liable to become a hostage as well.
John studied Stacey again. He then turned his head left and right, surveying the whole class. After repeating this pattern two or three times, he looked back at Andi.
"You still hungry?" he asked.
Except for a few scraps of fruit and remnants of some sandwiches, they had nothing left to eat.
"I suppose," Andi said, more to see where this was going than anything else.
John studied the class again. He then rose to his feet and came over to Andi's desk. He picked up the phone's receiver and studied it and the rest of the apparatus.
"You gotta dial out to call anyone not in this place, right?" he asked.
Andi nodded.
"Hit '9'," she replied, knowing she had no choice but to answer. She didn't know how he'd contact the police outside. She doubted they'd just let him call in an order with a local restaurant. How did these things work?
John hit a button and they could all hear the tone through the phone which indicated the other end was ringing.
* * *
Kevin, Nance, and Lieutenant Cruz all stared at the ringing phone aboard the Mobil Command Unit. Kevin was the first to move, reaching out and grabbing the receiver.
"Hello," he answered.
"Do I need to say who it is?" Kirkland asked.
"No, john. I know who it is."
Kevin had no clue where this was going. But the fact Kirkland called was a relief. The man needed something. And when a hostage taker needed something, it opened options for negotiation.
"Good," Kirkland said. "I've got a class of hungry kids in here. Send in some pizzas."
Checking the time on a nearby computer screen, Kevin calculated the standoff had now lasted six and a half hours. He figured some of the students had brought lunches from home, so there had been some food available inside the classroom. Now, it seemed this food had been consumed or was being ignored. Whatever had befallen those sack lunches, Kevin would forget about them and take full advantage of this opportunity.
"We can do that, John," he said while Nance and Lieutenant Cruz, both now waring headphones plugged into the phone, gave encouraging nods. "But we need a sign of good faith. You have to send out some hostages."
He could hear Kirkland chuckling.
"How many do you want?" the man asked. "Twenty plus?"
Kevin had to think fast.
"Send out five of the children," he said. "You're asking a lot of us, so we need something big from you."
"I'll send out one," Kirkland countered without hesitation.
"That's not enough," Kevin replied. He wouldn't waste this chance to get more students out of danger.
"What if I refuse to go higher?" Kirkland asked. "Would you let these kids go hungry?"
"Would you?" Kevin countered. "Come on, John. It's in your best interest to work with us."
There was a long pause. Kevin began worrying that the call had gotten disconnected. He wouldn't dare to ask if the hostage taker was still there. Then, to his relief, he heard Kirkland let out an exasperated sigh.
"You can have two," the man said. "That's as high as I'll go. And you don't get to pick who."
Kevin understood he'd never get a better offer.
"Okay," he agreed. "Send them out and we'll get to work on those pizzas."
He heard a noise suggesting disagreement and wondered what was going wrong now.
"I send them out when the pizza's here," Kirkland insisted and hung up.
As he hung up as well, Kevin was thinking. An idea had crept into his head during the final seconds of the call. He turned to Nance, who was removing his headphones.
"Talk to those Boston PD reps you brought," he said. "See if their guys back home can find Kirkland's favorite pizza place."
Nance stared at him. Then, a smile crept across his face as realization dawned.
"It'll be tight," he said. "Can you guys stall if needed?"
"We can try," Lieutenant Cruz replied. The lack of a concerned expression on his face indicated he too knew what Kevin had in mind.
Nance nodded and left the Mobile Command Center. Watching him go, Kevin reviewed his plan in his mind, hoping it would work. He wasn't so much worried about Kirkland's reaction to their move, but rather the lack of guaranteed time and resources to get it done. But, if they got it done, the reward could be enormous. Heck, the FBI guy seemed to like it. That had to count for something.
* * *
Marshall watched as the doors in the back of the auditorium opened. A man in a gray suit entered. As he moved down the aisle, Marshall caught the glint of the badge hanging around his neck. This was a cop.
Sure, cops were coming in and out of this place every few minutes, usually reporting they had nothing to report. Some were sticking around to keep an eye on the parents.
The only exception had been when some officers escorted two sets of parents out of the auditorium and word later trickled back about the two boys who'd made it out of Andi's classroom. After many demands for information, a police official confirmed that two boys, and only two boys, were rescued when they were allowed to leave and use the bathroom.
"We are negotiating for the safe removal of all your children," the official added, his words not comforting anyone. "Rest assured our team's diligence will continue."
But this cop in the gray suit was different. He looked defeated as he made his way down the aisle. Like everyone else, he hadn't noticed Marshall or was choosing to ignore him.
The man selected an row and moved past several empty seats towards a brunette woman. She looked up as he sat next to her and took her hand in his. The man shook his head and she looked down again.
Marshall figured this was another parent who happened to also wear a badge. He hadn't seen the man before and wondered what kept him. He also wondered if this man tried to use his badge to influence the situation. Recalling the man's defeated look, he supposed any such attempts were unsuccessful.
* * *
"You pick which two," John said, looking at Andi. "Do it now."
If this were meant to arouse conflict, Andi wouldn't let that happen. She'd formulated a plan ever since John and the cops agreed on how many students would be released when the pizzas came.
"Stacey," she said. "Rahat."
Rahat was Stacey's best friend. There was no question that Stacey had to leave the room. She needed to be seen by a doctor. Rahat understood enough about her friend's asthma to communicate this necessity to the authorities.
"That simple, huh?" John remarked with a chuckle.
Andi looked at him, hoping he wouldn't incite a protest among the students. While she knew what was needed immediately and made the appropriate choice for this, she still considered the possibility that Stacey and Rahat might be the last to make it out alive.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Kevin was relieved when no stalling tactics were required. Twenty-five minutes after his last conversation with John, a Suffolk County Sherriff's Department cruiser arrived outside the Mobile Command Center. Technicians hurried to secure tiny listening devices in the four large pizza boxes and the smaller box which accompanied the order.
"We'll get about six hours of audio before the batteries die," a technician said, closing the final box.
Kevin nodded. He'd overseen operations like this in the past. Finally, they'd have ears in that room. Hopefully, they wouldn't need the full six hours.
Kevin climbed back onto the bus with Nance following him. He picked up the phone.
"Yeah," John said by way of answering the call.
"How is everyone?" Kevin asked, introductions no longer necessary.
"Fine. Where are the pizzas?"
"They're here. I can have an officer bring them in to you ..."
"No way," John interrupted. "No cop sets foot in here."
"Would you like to come out and get them?" Kevin asked, wondering if he could be that lucky.
"You think I'm a moron?"
So much for luck, Kevin thought. He was sure a response wasn't expected.
"No," John continued, "set the pizzas down at the door near the classroom and then keep away from them. The teacher will come out to get them. You've got two minutes."
The subsequent click started the clock. Kevin looked at Nance.
"You want to grab her when she comes out?" he asked. "Would make things easier from the political angle."
Nance shook his head.
"That woman is probably the only source of comfort those kids have," he said. "She's gotta stay, no matter what Washington has to say about it."
Kevin nodded. He had another idea and grabbed a piece of paper.
* * *
"Time's up," John said, checking the clock on the wall. "Go get the pizzas. You've got thirty seconds. And take them."
He pointed at Stacey and Rahat. They were standing by the first row of desks, waiting. Stacey looked pale.
"Come on, girls," Andi encouraged as John unlocked and opened the classroom door.
Without a word, the two girls followed their teacher out of the room. Andi turned to look at the remaining students.
"I'll be right ..." was all she got out before John slammed the door in her face.
Knowing she had to move, Andi led Stacey and Rahat down the hallway. They reached the exit door and she could see cops waiting outside, standing a few yards from the steps. She turned to the girls.
"When we get out there, you go straight to the police," she said and turned to Rahat. "You know what to say?"
Rahat nodded, grabbing Stacey's hand. They both looked nervous, staring at Andi for guidance.
"It's going to be okay," Andi told them. "Let's go."
She opened the door.
"Go," she commanded. "Go and don't look back."
As the girls hurried away towards the waiting cops, Andi saw the pizza boxes sitting just outside the door. Four large, flat squares with one smaller box on top. Wedged underneath this smaller box was a piece of paper. It couldn't be the receipt from the pizzeria, could it? Andi pulled it out to see it was a note.
Nod your head if no one inside is hurt, then discard this paper.
Sgt. K. Greer
Andi looked out at the scene of cops, some of whom had collected Stacey and Rahat, wondering if the Sargent from the phone was there somewhere. She knew she couldn't wait and couldn't elaborate.
Taking a deep breath, Andi crumpled up the note, tossed it aside, and nodded. She then scooped up the pizzas and headed back inside.
* * *
"Well, that's a small favor," Nance remarked.
Through the bus's external cameras, he, Kevin, and Lieutenant Cruz had watched Andi Defesne bring the girls out, signal them as Kevin had instructed, and take the pizzas back inside.
"I'll go see what those girls might be able to tell us," Lieutenant Cruz said and left the bus.
Kevin kept staring at the monitor, now showing an officer retrieving the discarded note. He thought about that look on Andi Defesne's face. She was trapped ... helpless. And he'd just allowed her to return to this situation.
He remembered his days as a patrol officer. Every so often, he'd responded to calls where domestic violence was at least suspected. Too often, he and his partner would be told everything was fine, but he could recall some of the wives. They too looked trapped ... helpless. Having no evidence to oppose the claims of peace and tranquility, He hadn't been able to help them either and two later wound up dead.
He also thought of Annette Tate, the college sophomore he failed to save the previous year. He'd never seen her face, but he was sure it had been the same look of quiet desperation.
Kevin turned to Nance.
"What do you think our chances are?" he queried.
Nance shrugged his shoulders.
"At this point, it depends on how hungry Kirkland is," he remarked.
* * *
John gave Andi just enough time to reenter the room before slamming the door shut. He watched her set the boxes down on her desk, not moving to help.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the smaller box on top. "It's got my name on it."
"I don't know," Andi said, now noticing "John" scrawled across the small box in black marker.
John grabbed the box and set it aside.
"Give them their pizza," he instructed. "Then, everybody stays quiet."
Within a few minutes, the kids were eating. Andi, still refusing anything, was sitting at her desk, watching John. He was sitting nearby, opening the small box on his lap. He paused, staring into it. Andi didn't dare to move in order to improve her angle to catch a glimpse of the contents.
She didn't need to move. John soon lifted what looked like a calzone out of the box, still staring at it. His examination suggested either unfamiliarity or surprise. Andi couldn't help thinking of Marshall, who often indulged in the calzones at their local pizzeria. She shuddered, not wanting to associate her husband with all this.
John finished marveling at the calzone and took a bite. He now seemed to be considering the taste. He soon swallowed and took another bite, seeming to enjoy it.
Andi realized what was going on. The police somehow learned this was a favorite of John's. The calzone was a way for them to get to him ... to strike at his emotions and make him more relaxed for negotiations towards a resolution.
Andi then wondered if the pizza boxes had little listening devices in them. She'd seen Inside Man and recalled the scene where someone advised Denzel Washington's character how pizza was the best food to send in for the hostages and their hostage takers because everyone would have to stay near the pizza boxes, where the listening devices would pick up any conversations.
"You like calzones?" Andi asked, hoping movies were somewhat right.
"Yeah," John replied, his indifferent tone a far cry from his earlier surprised and interested expressions.
"You have those a lot where you were living?"
* * *
"Audio's clear," a technician on the bus reported, though they could all hear it. "How'd she know to initiate a chat with him?"
Kevin figured he'd dwell on that later as he listened.
"Got them from time to time," Kirkland replied. "Mostly after pulling a double at the hospital. Quick to get."
Kevin knew Kirkland got these from JoJo's, a pizzeria half a block from his apartment in Boston, at least once a week. The calzone, filled with extra cheese, pepperoni, broccoli, peppers, and onions was his regular order. It'd taken some cajoling, and Nance offering to come make it himself, but Nito's, a pizzeria a mile and a half from the school, agreed to fulfill the special order as fast as they could. A Suffolk County Deputy waited by the cashier, ready to rush everything back to the school. No one could recall a pizza order ever being delivered with lights and sirens.
Kevin hoped this string of good luck meant further positive outcomes, perhaps leading to a final resolution. He kept listening.
"so," Kirkland said, "what's the 'A' on your desk stand for anyway?"
Kevin supposed he was referring to some sort of nameplate.
"My name's Andi," the teacher replied.
Kevin wondered how many hostage takers and hostages never learned one another's names. Granted, most incidents he handled spawned from domestic disputes. But, setting those aside, hostages and hostage takers didn't learn more about one another until the trial, provided the situation didn't end in violence.
The numerous factors and possible outcomes still made Kevin's head ache. He refocused as Kirkland spoke.
"I guess you know who I am," he was saying.
"I saw the news," Andi replied.
Kevin wondered how anyone could miss it. Starting with the shooting at the courthouse in Boston, it seemed every channel was supplying constant updates. Within hours, NBC and ABC were both conducting live interviews with the widows of Lucius Oakes and Matthew Vinyard, the prosecutor and court officer killed in the incident. Now, Ellison Elementary School was at the center of the spectacle, and Kevin was expected to provide a happy ending. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves.
"What do you think should happen to me?" Kirkland asked.
"I don't know," Andi replied.
"Bet people would be glad if the cops out there burst in and brought me down ... that or I get a needle in my arm."
Kevin tried to recall if Massachusetts had the death penalty. The only person he could think of who got it up there was Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, but that had been a federal case. He supposed, under the general principles that seemed to warrant capital punishment in most states, six murders would make Kirkland a prime candidate, especially given two of his victims were law enforcement personnel.
Thankfully, no one else was in immediate danger of dying. The Suffolk County Sheriff's Deputy whom Kirkland had shot was already out of the hospital, his vest leaving him with a bruised clavicle and probable desk duty for a week while he recovered. The teacher Kirkland assaulted was still hospitalized for observation but was expected to leave soon. The School Resource Officer was out of surgery and his condition was lowered from "critical" to "serious", with doctors expecting him to recover as well. As for the Shaws in Connecticut, they were still listed as being in critical condition and under close observation, but there too were new signs of optimism from their doctors. Kevin was glad not to have to think about the possibility of more dead cops.
"You think anyone can forgive me?" Kirkland asked, bringing Kevin's attention back to the audio surveillance.
"I don't know," Andi replied. "I can't speak for anyone else."
"What about you? Can you forgive me?"
There was a long pause.
"Why did you choose us?" Andi asked. "Why are we in here with you?"
Kevin could hear Kirkland sigh.
"I didn't mean it," he said. "This wasn't the plan."
"Then, what was the plan?" Andi asked.
Kevin was wondering the same thing.
"I just wanted to get away," Kirkland explained. "I took the ferry over from Connecticut. I figured the Stateys would be watching the highways. There were cops at the ferry dock and I almost turned away, but I made it past them and onto the boat. I thought I was in the clear."
Kevin made a mental note to see that an investigation was launched to review the ferry's security procedures. He also considered Kirkland's choice of phrase. "Statey" was a nickname for state troopers, though it wasn't well-known outside of Massachusetts. Kirkland didn't have a Boston accent, even though he'd grown up there.
"I got here and began seeing cops everywhere," Kirkland continued. "I knew the ride I had was hot by then, so I needed to get a new one. I pulled into the first lot I came across and grabbed the first empty spot there."
Kevin tried to visualize the school's two parking lots. The one in front, separated from the building by the bus drop-off lane, was meant for parents and visitors. The one on the side was designated for the faculty and staff. Patrick Fahey's car was found in the faculty lot, almost out of sight from the main road in front of the school's property. If Kevin recalled correctly, there was an entrance from a side street that was near this lot, so it seemed feasible for this fugitive to end up there, especially if he didn't want to be seen.
"What then?" Andi asked.
"I figured some teacher would have left their keys in their room while they went off for more coffee or something," Kirkland explained. "I got in and was going to look around when your rent-a-cop found me. Then, it all went wrong and I bolted for the first open door I saw."
Kevin hoped Andi Defesne would never blame herself for having left her classroom door open. This was not her fault. Kirkland was able to pick the lock on the exterior door, so he'd have sought refuge in any room by some means. Had he not been spotted by the School Resource Officer, he might have found some keys and gotten away before anyone could object to his presence. Now, it was hard to predict what might have happened.
"I just want to get out of here," Kirkland continued. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison."
Kevin's listening was interrupted by the return of Nance and Lieutenant Cruz. He turned to see their grim faces.
"What now?" he asked.
"Justice Fischer," Nance said. "A local affiliate in D.C. just announced a live interview with him. It's supposed to happen within the next hour or so and the national outlets are ready to air it as well."
Kevin withheld a groan. There was a chance, albeit remote, Kirkland might see the interview and he'd know Andi Defesne was a more valuable hostage then he'd anticipated. Any progress they might have made with the calzone would be decimated.
"Can we stop it?" Kevin asked.
"I've got guys trying," Nance said. "The station isn't keen to listen. This is big for them. A sitting Supreme Court Justice is weighing on this mess and I presume they don't yet know why."
"What about Justice Fischer?" Lieutenant Cruz asked. "He wouldn't knowingly put his granddaughter in harm's way, especially given what they've already faced."
"He's not taking our calls. And the Director won't make that call for us. He just wants us to fix this."
Fabulous, Kevin thought. He could see the brass in Suffolk County doing the same thing.
* * *
When they were done eating, John gathered the pizza boxes and chucked them into the hallway. Andi wondered if he knew, or at least suspected, that there were listening devices in the boxes.
"I suppose more of you want to use the bathroom," John said as he locked the door again.
Checking her watch, Andi calculated they'd been in this situation for almost eight hours. She'd noticed some students squirming in their seats, though no one responded to John's query.
Glancing towards the windows, Andi could see a sliver of the outside world, thanks to a gap in the blinds John had closed so long ago. She could tell it was getting dark. For the first time she could remember, it struck her as to how early the sun set this time of year.
Normally, her students were home by now. Instead, they were here, at the mercy of a gunman who'd come without a plan and a temper that would erupt at random. Meanwhile, their families had to be somewhere nearby, racked with worry as they surely weren't receiving detailed updates.
Andi was sometimes still at the school at this hour, grading homework assignments before she'd head home to Marshall. She thought about their apartment. She wanted to be there so much. Maybe she and Marshall would finally adopt that dog they'd always talked about getting. No matter what happened next, Andi wanted to get out of this classroom. She looked at John.
"Will you let them go to the bathroom?" She asked.
John shrugged.
"Maybe," he said. "I wanna know what the cops have to say about it first. No more surprises."
He raised his gun for emphasis. Andi was grateful he wasn't aiming it at anyone. She'd take such small favors as they came.
* * *
Marshall watched more cops enter the Scraggy Hill School's auditorium. They murmured quietly with a few parents until they seemed to find who they were looking for. A couple and a third woman were led out of the auditorium, the cops guiding them without another word.
Marshall remembered this same scenario happening a few hours earlier in the wake of two boys getting out of Andi's classroom. Their parents were quietly escorted out of the auditorium, presumably to reunite with their children, wherever they were.
Soon, some police official would come with an update that no one left in this place wanted to hear. They'd won another small victory. Yes, more young lives were safe, but what about all those still at this gunman's mercy? Marshall wasn't looking forward to more promises and assurances.
* * *
"Hello," Kevin said, answering the ringing phone.
"Got some more kids who need to use the restroom," Kirkland said by way of greeting. "Can I count on your people not to interfere."
Kevin immediately realized a few things. There were probably several students who needed to go. He was surprised it had taken this long for the issue to arise in this quantity. Kirkland didn't want to lose his leverage.
But there was something else. Kirkland was sounding worn down. Kevin could hear that in his voice. The stress of being a hostage taker was getting to him. While he did not have a way out, he didn't want to be arrested and he did not want things to continue. Kevin had to seize the opportunity.
"We can work with you," he said, "but we need another sign of good faith. We're doing good here, John. Let's keep that going."
He heard a long sigh.
"You can have two more of these kids," Kirkland said.
Kevin knew he had to push back now. He could not look compliant or complacent.
"How many kids want to use the bathroom?" he asked. Glancing over, he could see Nance giving an approving nod, his radio in his hand.
"About half, I think," Kirkland replied. "Probably more."
"Two won't be enough this time," Kevin said. "We want to end this peacefully, John, but you need to accept a reality. You are surrounded by armed officers. We can snatch up every kid on their way to the bathroom and simultaneously come at you with everything we've got. We want to negotiate, but you need to understand we are not pushovers."
He waited, hoping his words were resonating.
"You get one kid for every four who leave and come back," Kirkland said after a pause.
Kevin paused, working to suppress his glee.
"That will work, John," he said in his most professional tone.
"Same rules as last time," Kirkland said, "and the teacher picks them again."
"Okay," Kevin said and heard a click. He looked over at Nance again.
"We won't interfere for the time being," the federal agent said, smiling.
After a few moments later, Vince Dodson affirmed the plan over the radio.
Kevin hoped having to supervise the students departing and returning might distract Kirkland from the live interview they had yet to prevent.
* * *
Like before, John instructed Andi to choose who would go free. Andi still refused to allow the task to inflict emotional distress as he might have wanted.
There were no more medical emergencies to be concerned about, so Andi studied the students, selecting those who looked the most nervous.
"I want to go, too," one girl, Dina, complained as her neighbor, Sara, was selected.
"Too bad," John said. "Not my call."
Ignoring John's comment, Andi selected Dina next, walking her to the exterior door like all the others. The police waited just a few yards away, collecting each child as they exited. Sirens were heard in the background, presumably indicating the youngsters being whisked away to a safer place.
"What about you, Mrs. Defesne?" Dina asked as Andi pushed the door open. "Why don't you go, too?"
Andi smiled at her.
"I have to stay a little while longer," she said. "But I'll come out soon. We all will."
She knelt down and hugged the girl.
"It'll be okay," she added. "Get going."
John was standing just inside the classroom door, grumbling something. Andi glared at him but didn't speak as he returned. Some other students returned from the bathroom at the same time. John waved them all in with his gun-wielding hand.
"By my count, you get to send out one more," he said, looking at Andi.
Andi wouldn't argue with his math, especially if it meant getting someone else out.
"Christophe," she said, pointing at a boy seated on the far left. "Come with me."
Christophe looked at her.
"No, Mrs. Defesne," he said. "I want to stay. Pick someone else."
Andi was shocked. John chuckled. His amusement or enjoyment sickened her, but she focused on Christophe.
"Are you sure?" she asked. She'd never heard him sound so confident.
Christophe looked at the other students and then back at Andi.
"I want to stay," he repeated. "Pick someone else."
Holding back her tears, Andi didn't know whether to hug or berate him. She'd never imagined an eight-year-old facing such a choice, let alone their making it. She shook her head, knowing she needed to focus. The rules could change at any moment, so she had to move.
"Zach," she said, pointing at the dark-haired boy two seats closer than Christophe. "Come with me."
Zach didn't speak as he rose from his seat. He didn't move to take Andi's hand as she led him out of the classroom. As Andi pushed open the exterior door, he looked up at her.
"Say 'thank you' to Christophe, please," he implored.
"I will," Andi promised, "but you'll be able to say it yourself later."
Zach nodded and left the building.
John was still inside the classroom as Andi returned. He was studying Christophe as he shut and locked the door.
"Nice work, Hero Boy," he said. "Don't know if it will have been worth it."
"Don't say that," Andi insisted.
"Sit down," John instructed, whirling to face her. "I want to see what comes next."
Considering he didn't have a plan, Andi didn't know what he was expecting.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBI�¢??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
It took almost an hour for most of the class to use the bathroom, but the trio inside the Mobile Command Center considered the time worth it. Five more students had been released and were on their way to Mather Hospital, where they'd be checked out and reunited with their parents. More detectives were being sent to the hospital to meet and debrief them, though Kevin supposed any information would not prove useful. Those girls who'd been released earlier in exchange for the pizzas weren't able to provide anything game-changing, so the odds were their classmates would have the same lackluster information.
"It's getting late," Nance remarked, looking at the darkening sky through the open bus door. "Normally, I'm helping my girls with their homework over the phone while I'm driving home now."
Kevin nodded, admiring the fellow devoted father. He too still helped with homework, his younger son having a tough time with English.
More pressing than the late hour was the approaching live interview with U.S. Supreme Court Justice Oren Fischer. No one was able to make any headway with getting that postponed.
"Stubborn and stupid," Nance remarked, referring to the station not cooperating. "They're liable to get everyone killed."
"Should we give up and have your guys go in?" Lieutenant Cruz asked.
Lethal force was still not a desirable option, but they were running out of good bad ideas.
"After the sweetheart deal we just got, I'd rather not," Nance said. "If we screw up and this standoff continues, we won't be able to regain Kirkland's trust."
"Cutting the feed is out," Kevin remarked. "No way we can account for everyone."
More stations were getting ready to air the interview and several streaming services were likewise announcing their intention to make it available for their subscribers. The police couldn't prevent them all from showing the footage.
"Too bad the mics are gone," Lieutenant Cruz said. "You think Kirkland knew about those?"
"He probably guessed," Kevin figured. "A week ago, this guy had no criminal record, but I'm sure he's seen cop shows. He had to have suspected we would try something."
"Try calling him again," Nance suggested. "Maybe we can distract him."
Kevin nodded. It was good enough.
* * *
John answered the phone on the fifth ring, not putting it on speakerphone.
"Yeah? ..." he said. "Yeah ... you want more? What are you trying to pull? ... I'll think about it."
He put the receiver down again.
"What did they want?" Andi asked.
"More of your kids," John muttered. "It's getting late and they're getting desperate."
"Maybe you could demand something else in return."
"What I want, they won't give."
John moved around Andi's desk. Grabbing the back of her chair with one large hand, he pulled her out of the way and began typing on her computer keyboard again.
"What are you doing?" Andi asked, not daring to move from where he'd left her.
"Seeing what's going on," John replied, using the mouse to scroll. "something's got them hopping. They want to end this fast."
"It's getting late," Andi reminded him. "No one wants to do this all night."
She noticed some of her students exchanging worried glances. Some also looked towards the now-empty desks. John was ignoring all of them.
"What's this?" he asked, speaking to no one in particular while staring at the computer screen.
Remaining seated, Andi leaned forward to see. Her heart sank when she caught sight of the link on which the cursor was poised to click.
Live Interview: Supreme Court Justice Fischer Speaks About NY School Hostage Crisis
"What's with you?" John asked, turning and noticing Andi's pale face.
"No ... nothing," Andi said, hoping her lie was convincing. She quickly straightened in her seat again.
John studied the screen.
"What's a judge in D.C. got to do with this?" he said to no one in particular. "Usually, all those old white guys only speak up to say it's okay to put guys like me down in one way or another."
Andi clenched her fist. Her grandfather was not a racist. The very implication was ludicrous and revolting.
"You up to something there?" John asked, whirling around and pointing his gun at her.
"No," Andi replied, loosening her fingers.
John studied her for a moment before turning back to the computer and clicking on the link. A bar showed a live stream was loading and the image of her white-haired grandfather soon appeared, looking splendid in an olive-green suit. He was seated next to a dark-haired reporter whose smile made it clear this was his White Bronco.
"What would you want to say to the gunman," the reporter was asking. "If he were watching, what would you want to say to him right now?"
"I only ask that he not harm anyone else," Oren replied in the soft tone Andi recognized. "I want a peaceful resolution."
Andi knew her grandfather could be loving and soft-spoken. He could also be firm and resolute. She'd seen him admonish lawyers for poor conduct or unprofessional behavior. He acted in a similar fashion when confiscating her cell phone and laptop for poor grades or some other manner of disobedience.
She, her grandfather, and her grandmother all preferred his more soft-spoken side. Oren had expressed his disappointment when she had not chosen to study law in pursuit of a judicial appointment, but he supported her desire to become an educator. Later, he'd visit her classes to regale students with colorful cases he'd ruled on throughout his career. This class had yet to meet him, though he'd been planning a visit to New York next May.
"So, you want your granddaughter and all the students released?" the reporter asked.
Andi noticed John stiffen.
"Of course," Oren replied. "Adison's life is as precious as any of those young ones in that room."
John looked at Andi but didn't speak. Andi prayed he wouldn't make the connection.
"Does the fact you and your wife raised her make a difference?" the reporter asked.
"Is it that simple?" Oren replied. "We've all seen too many tragedies in our nation's schools. I would be devastated if anyone's life were cut short by violence, whether it's Adison or one of the children."
The reporter turned to the camera.
"When we come back," he said, "we'll discuss the tragedy which led Justice Oren Fischer to raise his granddaughter, who was the sole survivor of a shooting in her home almost twenty-three years ago."
Andi withheld a sigh. She knew it was clear now. Apart from John, she was the only one in the room old enough for that last statement to apply.
"Your grandfather?" John asked, closing the window on the computer.
"Yes," Andi replied in a small voice.
"Your grandfather, a judge on the Supreme Court in D.C.?"
Andi knew she didn't need to repeat herself. She studied John, trying to analyze his reaction to this revelation.
His expression surprised her. She thought he might be gleeful when he realized the new value of his hostage. Or, he might have become more concerned as to what lengths the police and FBI outside would go to rescue someone connected to this high-profile political figure. Maybe such a revelation would prompt his surrender.
Instead, John's face remained blank ... neutral. Andi supposed he might still be evaluating this development and his options. Andi kept watching him, waiting for a reaction.
* * *
"I won't deny I never liked my son-in-law," Oren said. "But I never expected he'd do such a thing. I never saw myself leaving my home in my pajamas, but when I heard what had happened, I found myself doing just that."
"For your granddaughter?" the reporter asked.
Oren nodded, emitting a slight chuckle.
"I was quite a sight at the police station that night. And at the hospital. But I did not care."
Inside the Mobile Command Center, Kevin, Nance, and Lieutenant Cruz were watching the interview. Nance had been able to get through to Justice Fischer's cell phone just minutes before the show was due to start. The federal agent had tried to implore the Supreme Court Justice not to do it, attempting to outline the possible consequences.
"I need this man to understand the people he is holding have families out there," Justice Fischer had insisted in a resolute tone before ending the call.
"Academics," Nance had remarked to his law enforcement colleagues on the bus. "Always mucking things up."
They all knew Justice Fischer had been a professor, and later a dean, at The George Washington University School of Law prior to being appointed to fill a vacancy in the Eastern District of Virginia and then the 4th Circuit, followed by the Supreme Court. But there was nothing the law enforcement personnel could do about his apparent lack of awareness or concern about the possible consequences. The interview was happening and there was the possibility Kirkland now knew what he had.
"What do you want to do?" Kevin asked.
Nance paused, considering his answer.
"Let's wait before calling him again," he said after a minute or so. "Let this sink in. If we're lucky, Kirkland will be thinking about how bad things could get for him if anything happens to that teacher."
Kevin nodded, not having a better idea.
* * *
"Thought you said your name was 'Andi'," John mused, studying Andi.
Andi gaped at him. That was what he was focusing on now?
"It is," she said. "'Adison' is my given name."
"How did you get to 'Andi' from that?" John queried.
Andi considered if she ought to be sharing such personal information with him. But she wasn't in a great position to refuse.
"I have a cousin," she said. "She was three when I was five. She had trouble pronouncing my name, so everyone was trying to have her call me 'Adi'. But, she had a friend ... a little boy named 'Andy'. Things sort of blended in her head. I became 'Andi' and it just kind of stuck."
She wouldn't mention how she later let it stick as a way of distancing herself from what happened and the life she'd had more than two decades earlier. She always thought about legally changing her name, but she never got around to doing it, even when she'd married Marshall. Everyone except her grandparents called her "Andi" anyway, so a legal change never seemed that important.
Andi heard John chuckle. She supposed the story, on its own, was amusing.
"Families are weird," John remarked. "Your grandfather raised you?"
Andi nodded.
"Since I was seven," she added.
John paused, seeming to consider something again.
"Something happened to your parents?" he asked. "Something bad?"
Andi sighed. His tone was polite enough. He wasn't demanding an answer. But she understood all that could change, perhaps with little provocation.
"My family died," she said, praying such a vague response might be satisfactory.
"Yeah," John said without emotion. "They said it was a shooting and called it a 'tragedy'."
Andi glanced at her students, all of them watching this exchange. Her relationship to a sitting Supreme Court Justice was an open secret within the school, but not many people knew the complete circumstances behind her grandparents becoming her guardians. Andi didn't want to lay it all out now.
"What happened?" John asked.
He still wasn't being impatient or demanding, but Andi still knew this was not a consistent state for him. And, in some small part of her brain, she considered the possibility that, if he knew her story, he might feel compelled to end this standoff and release them all.
"My father did it," she described. "He and my mom were arguing one night. We were living in Rockville, Montgomery County, down in Maryland then. Dad was a corporate lawyer representing some defense contractors. He never liked it, even though the money was good. He and my mom argued a lot towards the end. That night, they argued, and he shot her. My brother went to see what was happening and he shot him. I hid and he never found me. Dad killed himself before the police got there."
Though she didn't share these facts often, she'd done so often enough that she was numb to them. There were other facts she didn't share because those emotions were still raw after all these years. She would not repeat them for John.
She could remember how she and her brother, Christopher, came out of their bedrooms at the sound of shouting and gunfire.
"What's happening?" her four-year-old brother had asked through the darkness in the hallway.
Andi hadn't answered him.
"Are mom and dad okay?" he queried.
Andi still didn't answer, not knowing what to do or say.
"I'm going to see Mom," Chris had insisted.
Andi's heart still hurt as she remembered how she had done nothing ... said nothing to stop him. Her mind was recognizing what a dangerous situation they were facing. Until that night, she'd never considered whether her father owned a gun. That night, she knew, and she was understanding he was using it in a very bad way. But, she hadn't stopped her little brother from going to investigate. And, when she heard another gunshot, she ran to hide.
Andi remembered her father coming to look for her.
"Adison!" he'd called. "Adison. Where are you?"
He had never called her "Andi".
He'd come into her room and opened her closet. Hiding behind some coats just feet from him, Andi believed she too was about to die. She could see him and the gun he was holding. She'd held her breath, willing herself not to cry.
The silent tableau was broken by approaching sirens outside. Andi later learned a neighbor had heard the gunfire and called the police. With a sigh suggesting resignation, Andi's father left her room. Listening to his footsteps retreat down the hallway, Andi remained hidden, not wanting him to come back and find her. She didn't want to die. Her heart jumped when she heard one more loud crack. But she stayed in the closet until a police officer found her and took her outside. The officer had shielded her from being able to look into the kitchen, where her father's body still lay, waiting for the medical examiner.
Andi still remembered her father's blank stare into the dark closet. She still wondered if he was making an effort to find her or just hoping she'd appear in front of him, ready to be shot.
She still never understood why he'd done it. Sure, people later spoke to her about his psychological problems, a growing embezzlement investigation at his firm, and an affair with a paralegal named Ashleigh. But all that came out after it happened. Andi still wished she'd seen some sort of sign before then. She was often reassured that she was seven and not expected to see something and say something, but she never found comfort in those words.
Andi would never share these memories and lingering feelings with John. She stared at him as he stood there, taking in what she had shared.
"Man," John said, stretching out the word. "I'm sorry that happened to you."
His solemn sentiment sounded genuine, but Andi didn't care. She looked at her students, all of whom were staring back at her. She wondered how much of this they were understanding.
"Did you ever forgive your father for what he did?" John asked.
"I don't know," Andi replied.
She had never found a resolution or closure on that issue.
"Could you?" John asked.
"I don't know," Andi replied.
She was never able to understand forgiving her father for what he did or outright hating him for it.
There was another long pause. John seemed to be thinking again and Andi waited.
"Could you ever forgive me?" John asked after another minute.
Andi too took a minute to contemplate her response. She soon decided to be honest, not concerned about the possible consequences. If anything happened, it would happen to her. She'd make sure of that.
"I don't know," she said. "I really don't know."
John nodded.
"Teach them something else," he said as the phone began to ring.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Oren Fischer: Associate U.S. Supreme Court Justice. Andi's grandfather. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Sitting in the auditorium, Marshall studied the many sets of parents facing the same predicament. Sometimes, they'd eye him with suspicion, not recognizing him or seeing a spouse they might know. But he didn't engage with them and they left him alone. Marshall felt no need to justify his presence.
He had considered the idea of going home. His and Andi's apartment was just a few minutes' drive from the Edna Louise Spear Elementary School, "Scraggy Hill", where all the hostages' families were corralled to wait with little information coming their way.
But he was always compelled to stay by some unseen force. It made him feel closer to his wife while in this school as she sat in another school at the mercy of a nutcase. It was somehow better than waiting for her at home. How twisted was that?
Like everyone else, he'd watched with hope and trepidation as more families were escorted out of the auditorium by police officers. Then, word trickled in that a few hostages were released. This happened again a little while ago, but everything was quiet since.
Marshall understood without needing to be told. Andi was still in that classroom. The police would have escorted him out otherwise. He felt some sense of relief at this as they'd be escorting him out as well if they were to tell him she was dead.
Marshall exhaled. Andi was alive. He'd get her back. This gave him comfort. He loved that woman. Despite her sickening love for romantic movies, her refusal to ever go hunting with him, justified, and many other quirks, he loved her. Even the quirks were often endearing, and he'd never hold her distaste for guns against her ... even more understandable now.
Relaxing just a bit, Marshall looked around and spotted a couple seated near the back of the auditorium. He'd noticed them before but hadn't paid them any mind. But now, he realized how separated they seemed to be from the other parents, who were huddled in small groups and sometimes moving around to talk and comfort one another. Yeah, he'd seen some parents going to talk to this couple, but Marshall now realized how brief those interactions had been ... just long enough to be polite. The only difference between this couple and him was no one was eyeing them with suspicion. They were, at least, being acknowledged as fellow parents.
Leaving his coat on his seat, Marshall rose and walked up the aisle. The couple took notice as he came closer, as did a police officer guarding the door.
"Hi there," he said, reaching their row. "I'm Marshall."
"Keith," the man said. "This is my wife, Lauryn."
He waved a hand towards the brunette woman, who just nodded.
"Nice to meet you," Marshall said, "despite the circumstances. You're new here?"
Yes, he didn't attend many school functions, but he knew a few things. These people didn't know the other parents well. Now, more than ever, people were gathering with those they were familiar with. These folks were definitely new.
"Yes," Keith confirmed. "We moved here from Lansing, Michigan, last summer ... right at the beginning of the school year."
He was studying Marshall, waiting for a point to this conversation. Like the others, the couple were sure to not understand why he was there, alone.
"How many kids do you have?" Marshall asked.
"Two," Keith replied. "Our daughter and ..."
Tears sprang up in his eyes and he gripped his wife's hand. She too was crying.
"I'm sorry," Marshall said, noticing some of the other parents glancing his way again. "I didn't mean to ..."
He ought to have realized the question would bring up negative emotions about one of their children being trapped and their feeling helpless. And he'd always considered himself a good judge of what to say and when to say it ... so much for that skill serving him well here.
"It's okay," Keith said. "I'm sorry. You're going through the same thing. Our son, Brad ... he's seven. We ... we just want him to be okay."
"He will be," Marshall said, a small part of him wondering if he ought to put such optimism out there. "His teacher is there with him and he couldn't do better than her."
Lauryn, the wife, looked up at him, wiping her eyes with a tissue.
"Thank you," she said. "Who's your child?"
Marshall shook his head.
"My wife's Mrs. Defesne," he explained. "Andi Defesne."
The couple blinked in unison.
"Oh," Lauryn said. "She's been wonderful. Brad loves her. He comes home every day with a big smile, telling us all about her."
Marshall couldn't help smiling himself.
"Excuse me," a woman said, coming up the aisle. "You know Mrs. Defesne?"
Marshall realized this woman, wearing a long purple coat, was one of the parents who'd often glanced his way, taking plenty of time to regard him with suspicion. She'd probably been on her way over to shoo him away as she'd perceived he was upsetting someone. She'd gotten plenty of crying done as well. The makeup which remained on her face was well-smeared.
"Yeah," Marshall replied. "Andi's my wife."
The woman's tear-stained face broke into a smile.
"My daughter's doing so much better in math because of Mrs. Defesne," she said. "It's nice to meet you."
Just like that, Marshall was accepted. More parents came over to share their adoration of Andi's teaching skills and offer the support they'd been sharing throughout this nightmare.
Despite everything, Marshall smiled. He'd built a career in construction because he'd always been good at putting things together. But he'd always dreamed of making a difference for other people. Now, he realized Andi had already done that. Once he had her back, everything would feel completely right again.
* * *
Kevin held the phone's receiver to his ear, listening to the repetitive long tones, Nance and Lieutenant Cruz listening nearby via headphones. The phone had been ringing for the last minute or so with no response.
Nance glanced over at Kevin, but neither man spoke. What was there to say? Once again, they were at the mercy of John Kirkland. Assuming Kirkland now knew Andi Defesne's heritage, it didn't seem to have affected him, at least not in their favor. Kevin feared that an armed assault might now be the only way to end it.
Suddenly, the ringing stopped. Then, there was a click and a long, continuous dial tone. Kevin set the receiver down in resignation. Kirkland didn't want to talk. What could he do now?
* * *
They'd been interrupted by the ringing phone. When it didn't stop after a minute, John went over, picked up the receiver, and set it down again. Andi wondered what would happen now if he wasn't talking to the police anymore. Her only source of solace was that he hadn't slammed the receiver down. He wasn't angry or agitated again ... not yet, anyway.
"Teach something," John repeated. This time, he stood by her desk instead of leaning against an empty student's desk.
Andi thought about what to do. It was getting late and she didn't want to teach anymore. She wanted to go home, and she wanted to tell John this. But, he had the gun and he'd decide when they left. No one else's desires were liable to change that.
Studying the room, Andi considered what to do. Her eyes fell on the bookshelf on the side wall. Reading might keep everyone relaxed.
Taking slow, deliberate steps, Andi moved towards the bookshelf. John wasn't stopping her and she soon reached it, feeling his eyes boring into the back of her head. Studying several spines, she selected a book and pulled it out from between a spare math textbook and a picture book about the solar system. She realized she needed to organize these books at some point.
Normally, she had a student read a portion of a book to the class. Now, Andi would not subject any of her remaining pupils to that, not with John and his gun in the audience.
She pulled her own chair out from behind her desk and sat down, facing the class.
"Anyone remember where we left off?" she asked, showing them the book. "The Flight Home" by Dorothy Kaiser. She noticed John raise an eyebrow as she recited the author's name.
"Mallick wanted to go home," a girl said. "He went to the airport by himself and his mom didn't know he did that."
Andi nodded and opened the book to the page marked by the bookmark. The plastic tab was decorated with pencils over a pale blue background. There was no writing on it. Andi couldn't recall where it came from. Maybe a teachers' conference she'd attended?
She slid the bookmark into her pocket, wondering if she'd have a chance to recall its origin. The thought upset her and she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. She couldn't cry ... not here.
She'd cried that night when she was seven. After her father had left her bedroom and she heard him shoot himself in the head, she'd sat in her dark closet and cried. She'd cried as the sirens got louder. She'd cried when she heard the doorbell, followed by the front door being forced in, followed by people entering the house and shouting. Only when she heard someone come into her bedroom did she manage to stop, her fear of being discovered and killed overpowering her grief. But, when the closet doors opened and she saw it was a police officer, the tears came again. She cried in the back of the police car and at the hospital and in her grandparents' Lincoln town car. She couldn't remember when she'd stopped crying. Somehow, she wound up in the large bed in the guest room of the Washington townhouse, which later became her bedroom. There had been no tears left then.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Defesne?" someone asked.
Andi would not cry here in front of John and her students. And, after a few seconds, she managed to compose herself. Her eyes opened and her teeth relaxed around her lower lip. She felt thankful when she didn't taste blood.
"Yeah," she said in a soft voice, looking down at the book in her hands. "I'm fine."
Focusing on the words on the page, she began to read.
Mallick looked around the airport. Everything looked like all the times he and his mom had picked up his dad. There were the belts with suitcases and bags. Many people were there, talking and waiting and looking for their stuff.
"Mallick?" John asked. "Let me guess. He's a little black kid, right?"
Andi glanced at him, wondering if she was supposed to answer. After a few silent seconds, she decided a response wasn't expected.
But it wasn't right. Mallick wasn't picking anyone up and he had his stuff in his backpack on his shoulders.
He wanted to get on a plane and fly home to Michigan. He remembered walking with his parents to a desk, where he then got a boarding pass.
That got him on the plane. He needed one of those. Where could he get one?
"Hey, kid," someone said.
Mallick turned to see a policeman looking at him. He stared back, trying not to show that the policeman had surprised him.
"He's in trouble now," John remarked.
Andi didn't bother to see if he awaited a response.
"You okay, kid?" the policeman asked.
"Yeah," Mallick replied, trying to sound tougher than he felt. He thought they'd found out what he was trying to do.
"You here alone?" the policeman asked.
"No," Mallick said.
"Where are your parents?"
"Dad's a pilot. He's flying right now."
"Where's your mom?"
"Hey," John said. "What cop asks all those questions? When will he put the kid in cuffs?"
Andi looked at him again.
"Real life doesn't happen like that," John continued.
Andi wasn't going to involve herself in that argument. At this point, it might lead to gunfire. She kept reading, skipping back a line to keep the context.
"Where are your parents?"
"Dad's a pilot. He's flying right now."
"Where's your mom?"
"Over there," Mallick replied, pointing.
The policeman turned to look. There was a woman by one of the belts, pulling off a bag. Her hair and skin looked like Mallick's. The policeman was white and Mallick's grandpa always said they couldn't tell the difference.
"Grandpa's right about that," John said.
Mallick wondered about this. But he wouldn't wait to see if his trick had worked. He snuck away while the policeman was still looking.
"Smart kid," John said, actually sounding impressed.
The airport was large, so it was easy for Mallick to get away. He walked past more belts, more suitcases and bags, and more people. He still couldn't find the desk to get a boarding pass. He also wasn't sure what he would say if someone there asked about his parents. He hadn't thought of that.
"Maybe not that smart," John amended, seeming to be thinking out loud.
Andi wasn't even thinking about responding anymore.
Maybe, if he told them his dad's name and said his dad was flying in to get him, they'd believe him. They had to know who his dad was because they wanted him to come work here.
Mallick kept walking. He was still thinking about his plan when he bumped into someone.
"Oh," a man said. "Sorry."
Mallick stopped and looked up at the man. It wasn't really a man. He looked like a big boy. He had short blond hair and was wearing a black shirt with a hood and "UMD" on it in big, white letters.
Andi's pause was unconscious. She was so used to John interrupting, she was expecting it again.
Scanning the last paragraph she'd read, she remembered John too had attended college and got an Associate's Degree. She supposed he didn't have to say anything about this story's college kid. Her eyes shifted down to the next paragraph.
"You okay, kid?" the big boy asked the way the policeman had asked earlier.
"Yeah," Mallick replied, not able to sound so tough anymore. Everything was not working like he had thought it would.
"You lost?"
"No. I'm going home."
The big boy nodded.
"Me, too," he said. "Well, kind of."
Mallick looked at him. What did he mean by that?
"My parents moved here last year," the big boy continued. "We used to live in Pennsylvania. It was easy for me to drive there from school to visit. Now, I have to fly."
"Boo-hoo," John said in a sarcastic tone. "Let me guess ... your 'big boy' is white."
Andi skimmed the page, but the big boy's race wasn't specified, even though the mention of his blond hair was very suggestive. Having left her thumb where she'd paused, Andi moved back to that spot.
Mallick thought about all this. He'd seen Pennsylvania on a map. He couldn't remember exactly where it was, but he knew it wasn't near here and nowhere near Michigan.
"My parents took my stuff with them when they moved," the big boy said. "I've got my own room in the new house and I can come by whenever I want. It's nice."
"Don't you miss Pennsylvania?" Mallick asked. "Don't you miss living there?"
The big boy shrugged.
"Sure," he said, "but it's okay. Home is with your family. That's what matters."
Mallick thought about this. He then heard what sounded like a bell. He watched as the big boy pulled a phone out of his pocket.
"I gotta go," the big boy said after looking at the phone for a few seconds. "My dad's waiting outside. Take care."
"And Daddy's there to pick him up," John said. "How sweet."
He walked away, pulling a large suitcase behind him.
Mallick stood there, still thinking. Home is with your family. His mom was here. So was his dad when he wasn't flying. They'd moved here because of his dad's job, but his grandpa and grandma also lived here. His mom had said how they could help them now that they lived closer.
"They could use our help," his mom had said, "and you help your family."
Mallick knew kids back in Michigan who'd moved there from somewhere else. Yeah, they missed the places they'd come from, but some of them became his friends and they were happy.
At his new school, there was one other kid, Nathan, who was new like him. Nathan came from Florida, but he was always saying how much he liked it in Michigan.
"There you are," a voice said, interrupting Mallick's thoughts. He turned to see the policeman walking towards him.
"Busted," John said, snickering.
"Nice trick," the policeman said, his hands on his hips, one near his shiny handcuffs. "You wanna tell me what's going on? Where are your parents?"
Mallick studied the handcuffs. He'd seen the police use them on TV. He wondered if this policeman would use them now because he'd lied. But he remembered how everyone in his family said he could always ask a policeman for help.
"Just be polite and ask for help," they all said.
John laughed again.
"What?!" he asked. "Who is deluded enough to think that? What rock are they living under?"
Andi waited for him to stop laughing before she resumed reading.
"Dad's flying," Mallick said, making up his mind. "He really is a pilot. I told the truth about that."
"And your mom?" the policeman asked. He didn't sound angry about the earlier lie.
"She's at home," Mallick replied. "I want to go home, too."
The policeman nodded.
"Where's home?" he asked.
John started laughing again and Andi had heard enough. She glared as he kept snickering.
| Author Notes |
In my original manuscript, I used a different font for the story Andi reads to her class. I'm not sure if that shows up on FanStory (my screenreading software doesn't tell me these sort of things.) Fingers crossed.
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional. Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Oren Fischer: Associate U.S. Supreme Court Justice. Andi's grandfather. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Mallick: the main character in a book Andi reads to her class. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
In the Mobile Command Center, Kevin, Lieutenant Cruz, and Nance were seated along the row of phones and computers. It had been forty-five minutes since Kevin's last attempt to call the classroom. They were all at a loss as to what would happen next. From their posts, Vince Dodson and his team were likewise uncertain.
On paper, an armed assault was called for in light of this long silence from the hostage taker, assuming there was no indication that another resolution was being contemplated. But, faced with this prospect, sending SWAT in was becoming less palatable by the minute. When cornered into giving that order, all three men had trouble stomaching the possibility of dead kids.
"We can't sit here all night," Nance lamented.
Kevin nodded.
"They can't stay in there all night," Nance pointed out, looking out at the dark sky through the bus's front windows.
Kevin nodded.
"We need to give them time to prepare the assault," Nance said.
"They don't need a lot of time," Kevin pointed out.
Vince Dodson, his team, as well as the SWAT teams from Suffolk and Nassau County had all reviewed the buildings blueprints hours ago.
"They still need time to get into position," Nance countered. His tone suggested how much the situation was weighing on him. He sounded close to defeat.
Kevin nodded and looked at Lieutenant Cruz, who returned the gesture. The latter man pulled his radio off his belt. Taking the silent cue, Nance grabbed his own radio as well.
"Base to Team 1," he said.
"Team 1 Alpha here," Dodson responded.
"Get ready and go on your order."
There was a long pause.
"Copy that," Dodson replied. "Will advise when the room's secure."
Soon, it would be over, though none of the four men could predict at what cost.
* * *
With Marshall now a respected leader, the vigil in the auditorium became a determined observance of the police's progress in resolving the crisis. One mother, Valerie, was tasked with monitoring all the Suffolk County Police Department's social media accounts for news. Two fathers, Chad and Stedman, got to work obtaining food for the group, the police or school district officials having not thought of this before. Parents still visibly struggling to deal with what was happening were partnered with emotionally-stronger individuals for comfort.
Watching the new flurry of activity, Marshall looked at the officers at the door. What did they know about Andi and what was going on in that room? Did they, or anyone with a badge, have a way to get everyone out of there?
* * *
"Let me see that book," John demanded, having recovered from his laughing fit.
He was already walking towards Andi and yanked it from her hands, the bookmark fluttering to the floor. He snapped it shut so he could review the cover.
"Dorothy Kaiser," he commented. "Sounds like a white lady name."
Andi remembered his earlier reaction to the name when she'd recited it. He'd raised his eyebrow. It was as though it sounded familiar. Had he recognized it?
Having read several of this author's works to her students, she knew the woman had been publishing for a little under ten years. She'd never considered the woman's race. Best case scenario, John would have probably been in college when her first book arrived at bookstores. He wouldn't have given it a second look, if he'd ever even wandered into the children's section at all. Why was he interested now?
John flipped the book over to scan the back cover. His eyes widened just a bit so Andi could notice he was surprised.
"My, my, my," he was muttering.
"What?" Andi asked.
John waved the book through the air.
"Your girl Dorothy," he said. "She's not what you think she is."
He held out the publication, tapping his thumb on the back-cover, indicating where Andi was supposed to look.
Near the book's upper-left corner was a small photo of an elegant-looking African American woman with long, dark hair. Dressed in a purple blouse and navy-blue suit, this woman, Dorothy Kaiser, looked friendly and approachable, the perfect perception for her intended audience. She seemed comfortable smiling as it too looked very natural. The straight, gleaming white teeth were noticeable. It was the perfect portrayal of an approachable person to print on a children's book. The only surprise was she looked younger than expected, maybe around Andi's age or a little older.
"What about her?" Andi queried.
"Her name isn't 'Dorothy Kaiser'," John replied.
"So? Authors use pennames all the time."
"Yeah, she picked a nice white lady's name to make herself more acceptable."
Andi's mind was racing.
"You know her?" she asked, looking from the woman's photo to John. It was hard to tell if there was a family resemblance from this librarian-type who seemed to be in her thirties and this hulking man who'd killed half a dozen people. But that was the only thing that made sense right now.
"That's Tanya Kirkland," John explained. "My sister."
Andi jumped a little, almost falling out of her chair. That she had not expected. John was still holding out the book and she took it in order to examine the photo more closely.
Maybe there was a family resemblance, but she couldn't tell. She'd never been good at noticing something like that. Twice, she hadn't realized a previous student's younger sibling was in her class until the student or his parents pointed it out to her. After all, how many Richardsons and Burks were out there?
"That's ..." Andi began, struggling to find the words, "that's pretty cool."
"Yeah," John said. "She did all right after she hid her race from everyone."
"What?"
This made no sense to Andi. For one thing, Dorothy Kaiser's, or Tanya Kirkland's, photo was on the back cover of this book and presumably on every book she'd written. Andi had never thought to look.
Also, Andi and Marshall often visited friends of theirs in Huntington. In doing so, they drove past a bookstore there called "Book Review". A couple of times, Andi had noticed fliers in the store's windows, advertising an upcoming event which Dorothy Kaiser would be hosting at the store.
"She doesn't seem to be hiding who she is," Andi said, pointing at the photo on the book cover. She didn't have an answer for the penname, but she didn't know enough about the publishing industry to come up with a plausible explanation for this.
John didn't reply. He seemed to be muttering something to himself.
"Did you grow up together?" Andi tried.
John stopped muttering and looked at her.
"Yeah," he said, "why wouldn't we? She was scribbling and doodling in one notebook or another for as long as I can remember. She did this on the computer when we got one."
"She seems to have done well for herself."
"Guess so," John muttered, capping the statement with a shrug.
"Does she still live in Boston?" Andi inquired, recalling John's earlier, disparaging comments about his youth in the Roxbury neighborhood.
"Yeah. I think she's living in Beacon Hill with a boyfriend now ... maybe he's a fiancée. They've got a couple kids ... twins, I think ... boy and a girl. He's a lawyer or banker or something. They've got a nice apartment with a heck of a view and their kids are in private school up there."
"Do you keep in touch?"
John shrugged again.
"Here and there," he replied. "Phone calls every so often. We see each other a few times a year. Stuff like that."
"You must be proud of her," Andi offered.
John nodded.
"She's my sister," he said. "I'd be crazy not to."
Andi studied him, wondering how the brother of Dorothy Kaiser could have ended up in this situation. So much carnage now tied to a symbol of childhood innocence.
Andi once read a news story about a series of bank robberies which took place somewhere on the west coast ... Washington or Oregon ... she couldn't remember now. Authorities named the suspect "The Harry Potter Bandit" because of the man's physical resemblance, obtained from bank surveillance cameras, to the slight, dark-haired character and the fact he often wore glasses to disguise himself. No one had been hurt in that spree, but Andi wondered if some children's love for the wizard was shattered by this connection. What peripheral damage was to come when the murderer standing in front of her was publicly connected to a beloved children's author said to be the next Beverly Cleary?
"What's with the twenty questions?" John asked.
At this point, Andi felt comfortable speaking the truth. John had shown he cared. He wouldn't shoot her over this conversation.
"I want to understand what happened," Andi explained. "How did you wind up killing six people? How did we wind up in this room with you?"
"I told you," John snapped. "I didn't plan this. I didn't pick you guys for this. It just happened. It ain't any more complicated than that."
"What brought you to the point where this became the only option you could see?"
John didn't answer.
"Did your parents hurt you?" Andi asked. "Did they prefer your sister over you?"
She wasn't a psychologist and was coming up with these ideas and questions as she spoke.
"They liked us both the same," John said. "Tanya just got luckier than me somewhere along the way. I don't know where."
Andi wasn't naive. She hadn't been naive for a long time. She knew there was racism in the United States. It still happened. But everything she was learning made it harder and harder to believe he was a victim of systematic oppression. John's own remarks weren't helping his cause.
"I'm sure it wasn't easy," Andi said, remembering John saying he'd grown up in the projects. "But it sounds like your parents did their best. What did they do for a living?"
"My dad was a janitor in a few office buildings," John replied. "My mom was an assistant manager at a supermarket."
Andi didn't know what either these positions paid, now or during John's childhood, and wondered if some sort of biased played a role in what John's parents earned. She pushed this thought aside.
"What do you think they are saying right now?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" John queried, glaring at her.
Andi rose to her feet and locked her gaze on John.
"They have to know what's going on," she explained in the firmest voice she could muster. "They had to have seen the news or heard something from somebody. Maybe the police are talking to them. What do you think they are saying right now?"
John stared at her, silent.
"What would they say?" Andi asked. "You think they'd be proud of you now? Would Tanya be proud of you now?"
She noticed John falter at that last question. He was close with his sister, even if their contact was limited like he claimed. He quickly recovered and stared at her again.
"Sit down," he demanded.
Andi shook her head.
"How is this supposed to end?" she asked, not daring to break their eye contact like he had earlier.
John let out a low growl. Andi's heart raced as he stomped over to the phone on her desk. He reached behind it and she heard a faint pop.
John held the broken end of the phone's cord up for her to see, making it clear their only link to the outside world was gone. Her heart kept racing as she worked to keep her composure.
"You wanna end this?" John asked, dropping the cord and coming towards her.
Before Andi could answer, he grabbed her arm and yanked her over to her desk. She grimaced but was able to keep from crying out at the sudden pain from him twisting her arm as he pulled her towards her desk.
"You want this to end?" John asked, releasing her arm.
Andi rubbed the spot he'd grabbed but didn't move to do anything else. She tried to figure out what he meant and what his intentions were.
"You end it," John declared.
He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew something Andi couldn't recognize, mostly because it was well-concealed in his large hand. He slapped it on her desk with an audible clunk. As John moved his hand away, Andi saw the object was a handgun.
John put his hand back in his jacket pocket and withdrew another gun, slapping it on the desk as well. Andi gasped as he withdrew a third handgun from his other pocket. It joined its counterparts. The three guns looked similar, or Andi supposed they did.
"You choose the ending," John snarled, waving his hand over the three weapons.
Andi was still trying to process what she was seeing. Her Reasoning was reactivating and she could surmise John had acquired these guns from the police and court officers he'd injured or killed in Boston and New Haven. They looked similar, but there were distinct differences between one weapon and the next.
"What are you waiting for?!" John snapped, his sudden raised voice startling Andi.
Some of the students gasped and whimpered.
"Come on," John continued. "End it. That's what you want."
Staring at the guns, Andi began to shake. She wrapped her arms around herself, not knowing what to do or say.
"Christ," John muttered.
His hand shot forward, and he grabbed Andi's arm again. He yanked it forward and, before Andi could react, picked up one of the guns and pressed it into her hand, forcing her fingers to wrap around the handle.
As Andi was still catching up with what was happening, John let go of her hand and arm. Fearing the gun would discharge if it fell and hit the floor, she tightened her own grip around the handle, careful to keep her finger away from the trigger.
Andi stood still, staring at the weapon in her hand. She had never held such a thing before, never even touching Marshall's pistol.
Her mind flashed back to that night when she was hiding in her dark closet. She could see her father standing in the doorway, looking for her, his own gun at his side. The smell of death surrounded him, though Andi wasn't sure if it had actually been there that night. Did the sense of death really have an odor? She long understood her father was looking for her to kill her like he'd killed her mother and brother.
Her mind jumped back to the present and she was again staring at the gun in her own hand. It felt heavy and slick with her own sweat. Her heart raced at a speed she'd never felt before. She wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
"Come on," John demanded, standing by the desk. "Do it. I'm the easiest target in the world right now. End it."
Andi looked at him, tears now welling up and making her vision blurry again. With slow, deliberate movements, she set the gun back on her desk. She pulled her hand back just as slowly.
"No," she said, looking at John again.
"What?" John asked, His surprise seeming genuine.
"I won't do it."
Tears started to roll down Andi's cheeks as she stared at John.
"I won't do it," she repeated. "You want to end it that way, you have to do that yourself."
For a horrifying moment, she thought he might do just that and grab one of the guns. She didn't want her students to see that.
John kept staring at her. It seemed that, in that moment, he might have counted on her shooting him.
"It has to end," Andi said, choking back sobs. "You're the only one who can do that. We can't keep going like this. You need to decide what to do. You need to take responsibility and make a choice."
John studied her and then the guns on her desk.
"Let's end it," he snarled in frustration.
He picked up one of the guns and raised it. Andi withheld a gasp as he pointed it at her chest.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBIâ??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Mallick: the main character in a book Andi reads to her class. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Vince Dodson peered out the classroom door. The hallway was clear. He withdrew his head and grabbed his radio, switching to his team's encrypted frequency.
"Team One to Team Two," he said in a low hiss.
"Team Two," his second-in-command, Kyle Noth, replied, stationed in the other classroom with two more agents.
"We move out on my count."
"Copy. On your count."
Dodson paused just a second to study Craig Dennis and Rakhee Spencer behind him. Both had their visors down and their weapons drawn.
Earlier, the SWAT agents had heard shouting and thuds in Andi Defesne's classroom, the sounds being dampened by the brick wall between the rooms. The noise stopped as quickly as it started, and everything was quiet since. The negotiator outside tried to call the classroom two more times without success. Dodson knew the wait was over and grabbed his radio.
"On three," he said. "One ... two ... three."
He moved into the hallway, Spencer and Dennis right behind him. Further down, he saw Noth, followed by Special Agents Frank Terry and Niles Morgan, emerge simultaneously. The two groups moved towards the door between them.
Dodson knew the local SWAT team was outside, ready to back them up. He didn't want it to come to that as backup meant gunfire. The six agents were equipped with an assortment of Springfield Custom Professional 1911 A1 pistols, Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns, and Custom M4A1 carbine assault rifles. They also had stun grenades and frame charges, the latter designed to eliminate the obstacle posed by a potentially locked door. Their armor, face shields, and helmets protected them from small arms fire, including the ammunition inside the pistols Kirkland was known to have taken from the court officers in Boston and from Deputy U.S. Marshal Joseph Shaw in New Haven. They could contain this and end it.
When Dodson and Noth were seven feet away from either side of the classroom door, it opened. John Kirkland emerged, seeming to not notice the heavily armed agents approaching from either side of him.
"FBI!" Terry shouted, being the first to react.
Kirkland registered the six agents around him as they sprang forward, their pistols raised.
"I ..." he began.
Rakhee Spencer was the first to get to him, reaching up and grabbing his shoulder.
"Get down!" she shouted. "Down!"
Looking to be about half the hostage taker's size, she nevertheless forced him forward, throwing him off-balance. Noth and Dennis joined in, the latter almost as big as Kirkland.
"On the ground!" Noth barked.
In less than ten seconds, their quarry was on the ground.
"Don't move!" Vince Dodson barked as Noth cuffed his wrists while Terry and Spencer secured his ankles. "Double-cuff him."
This man had already escaped his restraints once, causing two days' worth of carnage and leaving six dead bodies in his wake. They wouldn't take any chances.
Kirkland groaned and tried to turn his head.
"You stay facedown," Noth commanded, helping to secure a second set of cuffs around his wrists.
With others securing the suspect, Dodson glanced towards the classroom door. It was closed and he couldn't see through the narrow window in the door. He looked back at John Kirkland.
"Is everyone okay in there?" he asked.
Kirkland didn't answer.
"Is everyone okay in there," Dodson demanded.
"I want a lawyer," Kirkland replied.
* * *
Aboard the Mobile Command Center, everyone was relieved and frustrated over the capture of John Kirkland. Nance was on his radio, conferring with Vince Dodson and trying to get more information.
"We have no evidence to suggest Kirkland had a partner in all this," he was saying.
"Copy that," Dodson replied, the radio's reception clear and crisp.
Nance looked up at Kevin and Lieutenant Cruz, the latter holding his own radio. Just a few minutes ago, they'd all stood outside, watching as a local SWAT Team met FBI agents at the school building's doors and took custody of John Kirkland. Detectives were still attempting to question Kirkland in the back of a nearby cruiser, hoping to ascertain the condition of the hostages. Kirkland's only response was to repeatedly demand a lawyer.
Though he had most likely acted alone since his escape from the courthouse, no one could confirm whether or not Kirkland had an accomplice. Until that was verified one way or the other and the teacher and her students were safe, no one could let their guard down.
Nevertheless, Kevin already felt some measure of relief. A man who'd killed six people, including two fellow lawmen, was secured. He took a deep breath and focused again. It wasn't over yet.
* * *
Holding his pistol at his side, Vince Dodson watched as Rakhee Spencer pulled the camera back out. When Kirkland exited the classroom earlier, no one had replaced the papers he'd used to block the crack beneath the door. Finally, they were able to get eyes into that room.
But Spencer's single headshake quashed that happy notion. Dodson glanced down at the crack beneath the door. He couldn't see any light spilling out and knew they weren't able to see anything useful with the camera. Everything, human or inanimate, would be only shadows from their point of view.
Dodson looked to his right, where Craig Dennis and Niles Morgan were using FLIR to look through the wall. He stepped closer to study the screen in Morgan's hand.
Several shapeless, glowing blobs crossed the screen as Dennis kept moving the sensor along the stones. Dodson figured the smaller ones were the students, seated at their desks. He supposed Kirkland had instructed them to stay put before leaving the classroom. He hoped that was the reason.
There was one larger blob near the front of the room. Dodson supposed this was the teacher. Still, he couldn't be sure until he saw all these people face-to-face. For one thing, they could be recently deceased and their bodies just hadn't had time to cool yet. FLIR, Forward Looking Infrared, only detected heat, not a pulse or breath.
The fact no one had come out despite surely having heard the team's scuffle with Kirkland irked him. Were they dead? Was there an accomplice inside they didn't know about? Their equipment was good, but nothing beat a clear view with the naked eye. And, given complacency helped Kirkland escape in Boston so he could go on his rampage, there was no room for assumptions.
"Let's go in," Dodson said.
The team of six split up again, three agents assuming their positions on either side of the door , Noth and Dennis being the closest.
Dodson heard a short series of metallic clicks and registered Dennis's nod in front of him. The door was unlocked.
"On three," he said. "One ... two ... three."
Dennis pushed the handle again and Noth moved forward to force the door open.
"FBI!" he called, bursting into the room and moving right.
Dennis moved in after him and kept going straight ahead. Their Button Hook entry was textbook.
Dodson went in next and found the light switch as he entered.
"Nobody move!" Dennis shouted.
As the rest of the team followed, Dodson's head whirled left and right. No one was in the corners. No sign of armed assailants. There was no accomplice.
"Clear!" Noth called and the others echoed the sentiment.
His heart rate slowing as the adrenaline dissipated, Dodson studied the room again.
* * *
"Oh my God!" the mother who'd been monitoring social media pages maintained by the police department exclaimed.
"What?" someone asked. "What?!"
An urgent murmur rippled through the group in the auditorium. Marshall held his breath.
"There's a new tweet," the mother, Tracy, explained. "'Suspect in custody. Scene being cleared."
"What does that mean?" Brad's mother, Lauryn, asked.
She turned to the officers by the auditorium doors, who were listening to their radios.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "What's happening?!"
A silent moment passed. Then, the auditorium doors opened and Division Chief Holtz entered, followed by half a dozen people. The officers moved to keep the parents back as he led the way to the front of the large room. He turned to face Marshall and the anxious parents.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "As you have surely heard, there has been a development."
"No kidding," one man said. "Get to the point."
"Where are our children?" Lauryn asked.
"I will explain what is happening," Division Chief Holtz said. "These folks are counselors. They are here to prepare you for what you are about to encounter."
"What does that mean?" Marshall asked. He prayed Andi was okay. He prayed the students were okay. Never much of a religious man, he was ready to get on his knees to pray for that.
* * *
Nance, Kevin, and Lieutenant Cruz surveyed the scene.
"Everybody's set," Nance said into his radio. "Bring them out."
"Copy that," Vince Dodson replied.
A few seconds later, the school building's doors opened. A SWAT agent, having removed her helmet and face shield, came out, propping the door open as she moved. She came down the two steps, followed by a single line of second graders.
Police officers, deputies, state troopers, and federal agents had formed two lines leading from the doors to a school bus waiting to ferry the group to Mather Hospital. Until everything and everyone was checked out, everything needed to be kept secure in case of a trap. The work wasn't done yet.
Kevin watched the SWAT agent lead the students towards the waiting bus. Studying the young faces, he noticed several were smiling. Others looked relieved or confused. At least one looked ready to cry. Kevin wanted to hug each of them.
He'd seen plenty of hostage situations end, but none on this scale. From start to finish, this case would always be different in his memories.
Kevin studied the officers and agents keeping an eye on the procession. Some seemed to be on the verge of tears themselves. A few were wiping their eyes.
Glancing to his left, Kevin noticed Nance wiping the corner of one eye with a tissue. Lieutenant Cruz had gone to confer with the SWAT officers who would enter to search the building for traps or explosives.
Kevin watched the students climb onto the bus, a local SWAT officer behind the wheel smiling at each of them as the FBI SWAT agent counted heads. Kevin too couldn't help beaming.
* * *
Accompanied by an officer or agent in full body armor, Andi exited the school. She stopped and stared at the immense law enforcement presence before her. Many were staring back, seeming to study her ... maybe waiting for something to happen. She didn't know what they expected.
Looking ahead, Andi saw her students climbing onto a school bus. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Come on," the officer or agent next to her insisted.
He'd introduced himself as "Vance" earlier, but Andi couldn't recall which agency he worked with.
Andi moved forward and descended the two steps. As she stepped onto the walkway leading towards the bus, she felt something hit her forehead. Something else followed it, landing on her cheek.
Looking up at the dark sky, Andi realized it was beginning to snow. She couldn't help chuckling as she resumed walking towards the bus. She could feel everyone's eyes on her and shifted her own gaze towards her feet.
She reached the bus and paused, daring to look around again. She wasn't sure why, but she surveyed the sea of police. The snow was already picking up and a few flakes were now clinging to her auburn hair as well as her coat and sweater.
In the distance, she could see a police car, several officers standing around it. She thought she could see a large, dark shape inside ... or maybe she was imagining that.
"We gotta go," Vance , the officer or agent, said, now behind her.
He'd been speaking in a gentle tone, but it was clear he wanted to complete this task as he still had a lot of work to do.
"Sorry," Andi replied and climbed onto the bus.
The first seat on her left side was still empty. Andi sunk into it, her knees coming up to her chest because of how low it was. She stared straight ahead as another officer or agent behind the wheel started the engine.
"You guys know any good songs for a bus ride?!" he asked in a booming voice.
Andi managed a small smile as enthusiastic requests filled her ears.
* * *
Throughout her life, Andi had ridden in a handful of police escorts, the first being the night her grandparents came to take her home. Wanting to dissuade nosy reporters, officers from the Montgomery and Washington D.C. police departments drove in front and behind her grandfather's Lincoln.
Since then, she'd received similar escorts on about half a dozen occasions, all related to her grandfather's work. The Secret Service was involved at least twice, and Andi once saw a SWAT Team following the van she'd been riding in.
Now, a Suffolk County Police cruiser drove in front of the bus while a second cruiser and two motorcycles followed it. Andi could see the vehicles' blue emergency lights flashing, but she didn't hear any sirens. Still, they were definitely exceeding Port Jefferson's speed limits.
As they approached the Mather Hospital, she saw more police cruisers barricading the entrance to the parking lot. The bus and its escort were waved through and pulled up to the front doors. Andi now saw a cadre of police officers, doctors, and nurses waiting. One man in a blue shirt, khakis, and a white lab coat approached the bus. The driver opened the doors and he stepped aboard. He smiled as he surveyed Andi and her students. Andi could see his five o'clock shadow.
"Hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Teeger. I'm sure you're all anxious to get home, so we want to get this done quickly. You'll all step out of the and come inside where it's warm. We'll have you seen by one of our staff to make sure you're not hurt. It shouldn't take too long."
"I wanna see my mom and dad," one girl protested.
"It's my understanding that the police are working on that. You should be able to see them very soon. Now, let's line up and head inside. It's getting cold in here."
Andi watched as the kids walked past her. Words repeatedly failed her, and she was glad Dr. Teeger and his colleagues were taking charge.
After the last student walked past her, Andi pulled herself up and followed him off the bus. Her steps on autopilot, she headed towards the hospital's front doors.
Just inside the building, Andi was intercepted by a nurse.
"You can follow me, Miss," she said. "We'll get you checked out."
"Oh ... no," Andi said, finding words again. "I'm fine. I'm okay. You should worry about the kids."
The nurse shook her head.
"We've brought down almost our entire pediatric department," she said. "There are plenty of personnel here for everyone. Come on now."
She steered Andi over to a partitioned section and motioned for her to sit on the stretcher set against one curtain.
Andi couldn't remember answering the questions being posed, but the nurse seemed satisfied as she jotted. This took a couple minutes before any actual examination began.
The nurse checked all the usual spots ... eyes, ears, throat. She checked Andi's blood pressure and pulse and took her temperature.
"Quite a thing you went through," she remarked as she waved the thermometer in front of Andi's face.
"Yeah," Andi agreed in a flat tone.
"Your blood pressure and pulse are a bit elevated, but everything else is normal. Does anything hurt?"
Andi was shaking her head when she heard a squeal.
"Mommy!" a little boy cried.
"Oh, thank God!" a woman said in return.
More voices reached Andi's ears. Many more cries and squeals filled the hospital.
"Sounds like the parents are here," the nurse remarked with a smile. "I heard some of them were simultaneously too elated and still too distressed and they couldn't drive themselves, so the police have been carting them over from that other school in vans."
Andi kept listening as the reunions around her partitioned exam area continued. She felt her eyes getting moist.
"That was quite a thing you did," the nurse said. "We're all glad you made it out."
Andi turned to face her, and the nurse paused.
"What's that on your neck," she asked, coming closer again. "Lift your chin a bit."
Andi did so and realized she must have bruises on her neck. They were probably as red as the blemishes on her forearm, both spots where John had grabbed her.
"Did that monster hurt you?" the nurse asked, a scowl crossing her face.
"He grabbed me," Andi explained, "but I'm fine."
"I didn't notice any petechial hemorrhaging in your eyes, so that's a good sign. Straighten your neck and then turn your head left and right as far as you can. Do that slowly a couple of times."
She watched as Andi did this. For her part, Andi kept her swinging gaze fixed on the mint-green curtains surrounding them.
"Anything hurt?" the nurse asked after three cranial rotations.
"No," Andi replied.
"Okay. Now, nod your head for me, but do so as far as possible back and forth like before."
Andi obeyed again, though she was starting to feel dizzy.
"Anything hurt?" the nurse asked again.
"No," Andi replied, pushing her hair out of her face.
"I'll send a doctor to look at you. He might want you to follow up, but I seriously doubt we'll have to keep you here much longer."
She made a few more notes in her chart.
"Breathe," she insisted. "It's over."
Andi exhaled as she walked out of the exam area. She kept listening to the voices around her. The squeals and cries had died down and parents were now speaking more with their children or the medical staff.
"Can I go to the bathroom?" one child asked.
"Will you do blood tests?" a man was asking.
"Did grandma come?" someone queried.
"Where's Andi Defesne?" another man asked.
Andi froze at the sound of her name.
"Who?" a woman asked.
"The teacher," the man from earlier explained.
"Oh. She's right over there."
"Follow me, Sir."
The curtain was pushed aside, and Andi was face-to-face with Marshall, who looked like he hadn't slept in a week. She wondered what she looked like to him.
"Hey," she said.
Marshall came forward and the room seemed to widen to accommodate him. Thanks to his work, he was a big guy and the world always seemed to react like this around him. Andi didn't mind as he wrapped his bulky arms around her.
"I'm okay," she said, breathing in and out. "I'm really okay."
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Supervisory Special Agent Vince Dodson: commander of the FBI�¢??s Divisional SWAT Team from Manhattan. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Andi bent down and wrapped her arms around Hallie.
"Bye, Mrs. Defesne," the little blonde-haired girl said as she hugged her back.
"Good night, Hallie," Andi said. "I'll call you tomorrow."
They pulled apart and, as Andi straightened up again, Hallie's mother clasped Andi's hand.
"Thank you so much," she said, the tear stains visible on her cheeks.
Andi recalled the woman had still been crying when she hugged Andi earlier. All the parents had been like this over the last hour ... hugging and shaking her hand with some barely able to form words.
"I'll call you tomorrow," ANDI repeated. "Have a good night."
Hallie's mother nodded.
"Come on, Sweetie," she said to her daughter. "Let's go. Your Dad finally got a flight and he'll be home tomorrow morning."
Andi watched the pair walk out through the nearby automatic sliding doors.
Glancing behind her, she saw Marshall still hovering less than five feet away. She was again reminded of the protective details she'd sometimes endured as the live-in granddaughter of a Supreme Court Justice. But she understood her husband wouldn't let her out of his sight so easily for the time being. He'd already arranged to take at least a week of personal time. Andi appreciated this. Hostage situation or not, they could use some time together, especially given the tentative plans of house-hunting and family-making on both their minds.
Andi stared back through the glass sliding doors, seeing Hallie and her mother walking through the parking lot. She found herself wondering what type of car the mother drove. A sedan? Maybe an SUV? It seemed like an odd thing to focus on, but Andi couldn't stop wondering.
Finally, the query seemed to evaporate and Andi noticed Marshall glowering. Before she could ask, she realized the right sleeve of her sweater had ridden up her arm when she'd hugged Hallie. Marshall was glaring at the red bruises John left on her forearm when he'd grabbed her.
"I'm all right," Andi said, pushing her sleeve back down. "The doctor checked me out, remember?"
The doctor had examined her neck and forearm. After she'd found nothing concerning, she'd discharged Andi. For her part, Andi wasn't leaving the hospital until all her students were on their way home. Three of them were still there. . Counselors were speaking with everyone and none were allowed to leave without their clearance. Travis, Michael, Rahat, Stacey, and any of the other students who John had released earlier in the day were long gone, surely having undergone the same scrutiny. Andi would call them too. She'd call everyone tomorrow.
"I'm really okay," Andi repeated.
Marshall's vibrating phone broke the tension. He withdrew it from his pocket.
"Your grandparents," he reported. "You want to talk to them?"
Andi shook her head.
"Not yet," she said, thinking about her own phone, still in the classroom. She hadn't thought to take her handbag when the SWAT team instructed her to evacuate. That was another first today. She'd always taken two things during every fire and evacuation drill. Her handbag and her class roster. This had been drilled into her since the beginning of her teaching career.
Marshall nodded as his phone stopped vibrating.
"They'll leave another message," he pointed out.
"Yeah," Andi said. She knew her grandparents wouldn't sleep until they heard from her. Her grandfather had gone on the news, dredging up painful memories for both of them, to plead for her safety. It was one call that couldn't wait until tomorrow, but Andi at least wanted to get home first. She wondered how many missed calls were on her phone.
As Marshall returned his phone to his pocket, Andi noticed the principal, Phillip Coulder and Dr. Teeger coming towards them.
"How are you doing?" Phillip Coulder asked.
"I'm okay," Andi replied.
"You should go home. You need to rest."
"I'll go soon."
Phillip Coulder studied her.
"No school for now," he said. "Not for the rest of the week, at least."
Andi had seen an earlier news report, which described the entire school building as a crime scene. Due to the building's size, the on-site investigation would take several days.
"I've got a meeting with the Superintendent and the Board of Education tomorrow morning to plan the district's actions for the next few weeks," Phillip Coulder explained. "I'll keep you posted. You should relax."
Andi wasn't sure how much she'd get to relax. Not only would she need to call her students to check on them, but she'd probably go visit them in the coming days. A trip to Washington was also in order, brief as it might need to be.
She would need to figure all this out. Apart from the certainty that there would not be school tomorrow, Andi didn't know what came next in these situations. There were only so many components which could be planned ahead of time.
She'd seen so much about school shootings and she'd of course feared someday being involved in such a tragedy. Sometimes, she'd believed her father's killings had inoculated her from having to experience something like that again. Still, she now knew she'd never been ready to face what John did to her and her students. There'd never been a way to prepare for it.
"I hate to bring this up now," Phillip Coulder said and stopped to swallow. "There will be questions that you'll have to answer."
Andi stared at him. The police had already asked some questions and She'd made an appointment to give a formal statement at the local precinct the following afternoon.
"Everyone will want to know how he got into your room," Phillip Coulder said. "We're already facing scrutiny because no one stopped this man from picking the lock to a side door of our building. He never had time to pick the lock to your classroom door."
Andi froze, remembering. Following the shooting, John had opened her door before she could reach it, but he shouldn't have been able to do that.
The Ellison Elementary School was built to alleviate overcrowding at Scraggy Hill. Construction occurred in the years just after the Sandy Hook shooting and security was a big concern. Not only were the walls built to withstand gunfire, the doors were supposed to lock automatically. Andi had to use her key every time she wanted to get in and she'd needed to summon the custodian on more than one occasion when she'd locked herself out.
Each classroom door had a second lock that could only be engaged with a key from inside the rooms. School protocol required all teachers to lock these locks in case of an emergency, specifically an active shooter. Andi was about to do this when John reached the door first, but how had he managed to get in. Andi felt sick as this realization hit her for the first time.
John had gotten in without hindrance. Come to think of it, so had the SWAT Team. Andi wondered if they'd acquired a key. If they did, it didn't explain how John got in. She again tried to replay that morning in her head. Had she closed the door all the way once her students had entered? Had she heard the metallic click?
"I don't think there's anything you need to worry about," Phillip Coulder said, "but I just wanted to let you know there will be an investigation."
Andi couldn't believe this. How was she supposed to not worry? She tried to recall that morning. She'd propped the door open as usual for her students' arrival, but she'd then closed it after taking attendance. All of that was routine. Had it closed properly? Had she contributed towards endangering her own life and the lives of her students? Inadvertently or not, had left the door ajar? Could she face legal ramifications for this? Would she lose her job?
"I'll call you after the meeting tomorrow," Phillip Coulder said. "Please, get some rest."
Andi glanced at Dr. Teeger, who had yet to speak. She wondered what he could prescribe to help her sleep.
"Dr. Teeger," a nurse called.
Without a word, the doctor turned and headed in the direction he'd been summoned.
"We'll talk tomorrow," Phillip Coulder said and also walked away.
Andi couldn't move.
"Are you okay?" Marshall asked when the principal was out of earshot. "That sounded rough."
Andi glared at him. Wasn't that obvious?
"You can't have done anything wrong," Marshall said. "I know you too well."
Andi knew he was trying to help. It just wasn't working.
She glanced up at a nearby ceiling-mounted television, the same one she'd noticed earlier. It was still tuned to the news while muted. The brown-haired reporter on the screen was sitting in a studio, talking to a woman with long, blonde hair. She looked familiar, but Andi couldn't place her right then. She had to be related to the case somehow, but she couldn't be a parent. Most had recently been at the hospital and there were no television news studios in Port Jefferson. Security was tight and no reporters had gotten in to pose questions. Still, the woman did look distraught. She had to have something to do with this.
The scrolling text beneath the interview revealed the "suspect" in the Ellison Elementary School Hostage Crisis had been flown to a maximum-security federal detention facility in Manhattan. Only vaguely knowing anything about what happened at the courthouse in Boston, Andi nonetheless understood the police and FBI would take no chances this time. Sending John to a prison which, at various times, housed infamous mobsters, terrorists, and drug lords seemed to mesh with that.
As the silent interview seemed to continue, the scrolling text revealed more positive news. The School Resource officer, the teacher, and the deputy who'd been injured when John invaded the school were all expected to make a full recovery, with the law enforcement personnel to be released from the hospital in the coming days. Andi had no idea who the deputy was and she'd only had brief exchanges with the SRO, Officer Andrew Holmes. As for David Gardener, the teacher who'd challenged John and received a sledgehammer-like blow to his gut from the latter's boot, Andi never knew him better than most of her other colleagues. True, his classroom was across the hall, but how well did anyone ever know their neighbors? The doctors had already sent him home and Andi knew she'd have to go visit him. She had to thank him for his efforts.
The news was also reporting that Deputy U.S. Marshal Joseph Shaw and his wife, whom John had shot outside their home in Connecticut early that morning, were out of danger. Authorities in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York, as well as the federal government, were all expected to file charges including robbery, kidnapping, and murder. Andi knew enough about the law to predict the impending jockeying between jurisdictions. Any prosecutor who could be seen in the same courtroom with such a defendant could expect a major career boost.
Andi thought about those who weren't so lucky. Six people were dead, two of them young college students who never anticipated encountering someone like John Kirkland. The police and court officers died while doing their jobs. The judge and prosecutor died because they were doing theirs. Andi couldn't imagine the grief still racing through Boston right then.
Andi looked around again. She spotted two men standing off to the side. One, Caucasian, was shorter, closer to her own height, wearing a dark-gray suit. The other was a tall African American man wearing a navy-blue suit. Both had badges hanging around their necks.
Andi moved towards them, Marshall still close behind her. Both men looked at Andi as she approached.
"Mrs. Defesne," the shorter man said. "How are you doing?"
"I'm not sure," Andi admitted. "I'm still trying to make sense of it all. I don't know if I'll ever manage that."
His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. When had they spoken before?
The shorter man nodded.
"We haven't been properly introduced," he said. "I'm Suffolk County Police Sergeant Kevin Greer. This is Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
As he pointed towards his taller colleague, Andi absorbed the names. She knew this was the cop she'd heard on the phone. The air seemed to rush out of her lungs.
"Thank you," she said, "for everything."
"No problem," Sergeant Greer said. "I wish everyone's gratitude were like yours. I've had my hand shaken so many times tonight, I'll need to put my arm in a sling to recover."
Next to him, Special Agent Nance nodded with a slight chuckle. Andi also managed a small chortle. She'd lost count of how often she'd shaken hands or been hugged in the last hour.
"I think I can muster one more though," Sergeant Greer said. "Mrs. Defesne, I don't know what you said to him in that room, but thank you for all you've done today."
He extended his hand.
"Yes," Special Agent Nance agreed. "Thank you."
Andi shook both their hands and introduced Marshall. She felt a little more relaxed at that moment.
"We'll see you again soon," Sergeant Grear said. "The danger may be over, but the investigation is just beginning."
Andi withheld a cringe, thinking about Phillip Coulder's implications.
"For now," Agent Nance added, "you have a good night. Let us do the thinking for a little while."
He and Sergeant Grear stepped away.
"Ready to go?" Marshall asked , stepping up next to Andi.
Andi looked around.
"Almost," she said.
There were still a few students here. She wouldn't leave until they did.
Andi started walking again, not sure what she ought to do at that very moment. Her legs felt wobblier with every step. She spotted a row of seats in a waiting area and moved towards them.
Marshall didn't speak, just following her.
Andi sank into the closest seat and placed both her hands over her face. She took a deep breath and began to sob. She felt Marshall lower himself into a seat next to her. She felt him place his hand on her back.
"Just let it out," he encouraged. "It's over. It's okay."
Andi took deep, shuddering breaths as she kept sobbing.
* * *
As they entered the room, Marshall tossed their overnight bag onto the closer bed. Andi set her handbag on the dresser and surveyed their short-term arrangements. They were as standard as a hotel room could be. Two queen-sized beds, the dresser with a television on top, a small desk and chair, and a narrow closet ... it was normal, and Andi was fine with that.
"I'm hitting the can," Marshall said to no one in particular as he entered the small bathroom. It was his routine to do this as soon as they got to any hotel room. He'd actually done this on their wedding night and Andi almost fell asleep waiting for him to come out.
Andi crossed the room and pushed the curtains aside. The fourth floor window offered a decent view, even if she didn't see any defining landmarks.
This wasn't Port Jefferson. This was a place Andi had never been to and, though she'd of course heard of it, she, for no particular reason, never considered visiting.
They'd left early that morning, getting on the first JetBlue flight out of JFK. After arriving and sorting out their car rental, they'd stopped for McDonald's along the way. It was all routine, even while the purpose for it wasn't.
Andi heard a flush and running water. She turned to see Marshall emerge from the bathroom a few seconds later. He grabbed the remote and a pamphlet in front of the television.
He'd wanted to watch the Yankees take on the Phillies and the game was probably due to start soon.
"Is it important?" Andi had asked that morning while they stood in line at the JFK check-in counter.
"Kind of," Marshall replied
It seemed he had a friendly wager on the game. Something about salt, jelly, and a foreman from one of his current projects ... Andi didn't ask. At least it wasn't money.
"I'm going for a drive," Andi said, moving towards the dresser. She hadn't made any plans, but she couldn't stay in this room all afternoon.
"You okay?" Marshall asked, looking up from the pamphlet. He wasn't as overprotective anymore, but this instinct still lingered.
"Yeah," Andi replied, grabbing her handbag. "I just want to drive around."
This was a safe area. She couldn't fall into harm's way ... not again. Plus, she just wanted to drive.
"Okay," Marshall said. "Be back before dark."
"Aye aye," Andi said, kissing her husband's cheek before moving towards the door.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Phillip Caulder: principal of the Ellison Elementary School. Patrick Fahey: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Mallory Whiteson: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. David Gardener: colleague of Andi's at the Ellison Elementary School. Injured when a gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Andi lowered all of the car's windows before driving towards the exit of the hotel's parking lot. Warm air swirled through the sedan as she turned right and joined the light afternoon traffic.
She kept the car's radio off. She knew what all the stations would be talking about, even those who normally didn't cover the news. She didn't want to hear it. Silence was better.
It was mid-May. The ordeal with John Kirkland happened a long time ago. The Ellison Elementary School felt like a world away. So much had changed.
But, for the first time in a long time, Andi was again in the same place as John Kirkland. She wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Andi approached an intersection and stopped as the light turned red. As she waited, she dug her phone out of her handbag and opened the Maps app. Though she hadn't had a destination in mind when she'd decided to drive, there was one place she thought was worth seeing since she was in town anyway.
Earlier, during their drive to the hotel, she and Marshall almost drove past the facility where John was being held. Andi wasn't sure if Marshall had been aware of the coincidence.
She'd briefly considered stopping to go in and see him, but the feeling didn't linger. Still, it did feel strange to be so close to her second assailant again. The fact it'd been so long certainly contributed to these odd feelings.
The light turned green and Andi began driving again. In basic principles, she knew John was where he belonged. But she spent an entire day at the man's mercy. It was still hard to simply find closure when one's hostage taker was locked up.
So much was different now. Shortly before John's invasion into her classroom, Andi and Marshall had begun contemplating the idea of starting their family. At the very least, they wanted to get out of their tiny apartment with the kitchen/office and bedroom/laundry room. There was being joined together for life. Andi and Marshall were living like Tetris pieces.
After leaving Mather Hospital that night in January, they'd put off the idea of having children. Andi had to process everything that happened and needing to worry about a baby wouldn't help.
"We'll wait then," Marshall said and Andi appreciated his capitulation.
They did make other changes. After many late nights of contemplation and calculations, they'd purchased a small, ranch-style house ten minutes from the school. Andi found she liked walking home for lunch every day, provided the weather was favorable.
Then, Marshall made another suggestion.
"There's more than one way to start a family," he said and Andi realized the nature of his underlying idea.
As she drove, Andi smiled at this memory. Rey always brought nothing but happy feelings and positive energy.
After settling into their new home, the couple reached out to Dave, a friend of Marshall's who trained guide dogs at a school not far from Port Jefferson. Dave wrote a referral and they were approved to apply to adopt a dog who did not make it through training. Four months later, they met a blind man named Michael around Andi's age. He walked them through the paperwork and collected two thousand dollars for the adoption of Rey, a seventeen-month-old black Labrador Retriever/Golden Retriever cross. The dog was released from guide dog training for barking at random noises and small animals like squirrels.
"Seems like a regular dog to me," Marshall had remarked.
One consistency in Rey's behavior was his barking when the doorbell rang. While learning and understanding Michael's explanation about why this wouldn't work for becoming a guide dog, Andi appreciated this characteristic, along with the dog's tall stature.
"You going to keep the house safe?" she'd asked him on the drive home that day.
Rey, curled up between her feet in the passenger seat wheel well, replied with a groan of contentment.
Currently, Marshall's friend Dave was watching Rey during this short trip. Andi would have liked to take him, but the logistics with putting the dog in the plane's cargo hold were too complex for this thirty-six-hour trip.
Another light turned red and Andi dutifully stopped, not missing the police car crossing in front of her. The two officers inside paid her no mind. There was a good chance they had no clue who she was, let alone that she was even in their proximity. Despite these good odds, Andi hoped for their obliviousness. She no longer counted on odds, favorable or not.
She also didn't miss the school located diagonally to her left. A bush blocked a clear view of the sign in front of the building, but the swing set poking out from behind the structure made the student body's age range clear.
Andi supposed this school was still one of the lucky academic institutions whose history was not marred by random violence. She supposed she'd made her peace with what happened, but she envied this school's teachers. They weren't haunted by memories of desperate men and guns.
It took a year of therapy and plenty of quiet reflection, along with long walks with Rey, but the nightmares and bouts of sobbing had finally stopped. Still, Andi double-checked her classroom door at least three times a day and her spare glasses now sat next to her computer keyboard at all times. Everyone excepted these changes without comment.
This light turned green as well and Andi made a right turn, avoiding the school building's visage in her rearview mirror. She couldn't see the police car from earlier. Perhaps that was for the best as well.
School back home was canceled for a week following the crisis. Andi and her class received an additional week off, after which the week-long mid-winter break began. Almost a month after John's invasion, they returned to the Ellison Elementary School, having been relocated to a different classroom on the other side of the building. This group of second graders was now nestled at the end of the fourth grade wing.
To Andi's delight, every student was present on their first day back. She didn't dare to venture down to her old room and learned from a colleague it was empty. Rumors suggested it would now be used for storage, its infamy too great for any educator to overcome.
The break hadn't been restful. Apart from meetings and therapy sessions, Andi visited her students at least once a week. It felt surreal to be sitting with them one-on-one in their family's dens or kitchens, with a parent or guardian usually hovering nearby.
"Want to see my room?" more than one pupil had asked.
Andi always declined, wanting to maintain some boundaries. Instead, they talked about activities the kids were doing with their families. Sometimes, she helped with assignments the kids had been given so they wouldn't fall too far behind.
She'd also hosted a few group activities at the community center or library. At least one of those had included a professional counselor with a therapy dog.
The topic of what happened didn't come up often. In fact, Andi had talked about it more with the students' parents to gauge how the kids were doing. The responses varied widely. Some students were angry for a while. Others cried. Though they were all seeing therapists like Andi, some posed their questions to her.
"Did that man really hurt and kill people?"
"Is he going to jail forever?"
"Will he come back?"
"Why did he do it?"
The last question was always the hardest to resolve. Andi still wasn't sure about the answer. John had said he had no choice, but this was too vague to offer closure. He hadn't spoken to anyone since his arrest who was repeating his statements. No reporter was able to get an interview and his lawyers only talked about their intended defenses for the trial.
Following her phone's directions, Andi merged onto I-80 and headed east. She was about twenty minutes away. Cruising down the highway, she thought about the lawyers again. Lawyers always made things more complicated.
Andi had needed to consult an attorney of her own when the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office convened a grand jury to investigate the school's culpability in John gaining access to the school. She spent two months freaking out and not even the lawyer, Lancet Spooner, taking her case pro bono brought any relief. Despite his kindness and professionalism, Andi was sure he'd done it for the publicity.
"They can't find you being responsible for this because there isn't anything to find in your actions," Lancet Spooner explained. "The most important thing you can do now is relax and not talk to anyone without consulting me."
"Can I tell the grand jury I never meant for this to happen?" Andi asked.
"No. That very statement implies you did something to let this happen."
Andi was grateful when it was all rendered moot. Some sort of engineer examined the lock on her classroom door and found it to be defective. While Andi could still lock and unlock it manually, a slipped spring caused the automatic locking mechanism to fail when Andi closed her door after her students' arrival that January morning.
"Did you know the lock was defective?" Lancet Spooner asked before telling Andi about the engineer's determination.
"No," Andi replied.
"No indication there was a problem?"
"No."
Lancet Spooner then spoke to the District Attorney's Office, after which the grand jury determined the fault lay with the school's maintenance department failing to check the locks in the months before the incident. Apparently, this was supposed to happen every quarter but hadn't happened since September.
Some of the parents were said to be preparing a lawsuit against the school district for endangering their children. Rumors and talking heads either dispelled the notion or implied such a suit would not be successful.
Nevertheless, Lancet Spooner asked if Andi wanted to pursue damages against her employer.
"You were in as much danger as those kids," he'd pointed out. "For the same reasons, too."
"I'm not sure," Andi said and the matter hadn't been discussed since. She now wondered if it was too late to file a claim. Was she so vindictive?
A flash of blue caught Andi's eye and she realized her exit was approaching. Moving into the far-right lane, she made it to the ramp for Exit 145 just in time.
Listening to her phone's GPS, she supposed her kids, now two grades beyond her, had also made their peace with what happened. Everyone's grades recovered from their long absence and no one was left behind at the end of that school year. She didn't hear about any serious behavioral issues which could have resulted from their ordeal in the classroom. One boy and his family moved away the following summer and more unconfirmed rumors suggested the hostage crisis was the reason. A girl and her family moved the following year, though that was because of her mother's new job. Andi was willing to believe both moves had similar causes ... or maybe she just wanted to.
Andi focused again, following the signs, she found an empty space and parked. She tucked her phone back in her handbag, she got out of the car and crossed the parking lot.
She was now on her third batch of students since that long day in January. Abigail, the younger sister of one of her students three years ago, was now in her class. Abigail's brother was not mentioned often. With three weeks left in this school year, there wouldn't be many more chances for that to happen.
Andi encountered no one else's younger siblings in her new classes. Still, there were occasions when one of her pupils would make a query about what had happened. Her refusals to talk about it were polite but firm.
"That was a long time ago," she'd often say. "We've got more important things to focus on right now."
"Can I help you?" someone asked.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Andi saw a security guard approaching.
"No," she said, smiling. "I'm just visiting and looking around."
The security guard studied her for a few seconds before nodding. She wondered if he knew who she was.
"The ice rink's closed for maintenance," he advised.
"Thank you," Andi said.
They both kept walking as Andi's mind wandered as well.
Like with her students, she declined to speak to reporters about what happened. For a few weeks after the hostage crisis, she was the hottest media commodity in the country. She refused to embrace her infamy. For a while, the Suffolk County Police Department stationed a car outside her home to ward off reporters and gawkers. Some media outlets even brought up her father's actions from over two decades earlier. A photo of his mistress, believed to have been a contributing cause for his murders and suicide, graced screens across the country while reporters also talked about his mental illness and embezzlement. Thankfully, everyone's interest in Andi died down after a little while.
There were plenty of other subjects in this story more willing to speak with the media. A few parents shared their opinions on school security, gun safety, and more of the usual talking points which arose in the wake of these incidents. Politicians, particularly those throughout the northeast, gave their thoughts on why their opponents were wrong on these matters. It was so convoluted that Andi stopped watching the news for a while.
She had learned one important thing in this barrage of needless chatter. The mysterious blonde she'd seen on the hospital's television was identified. It was no high-octane ah-ha moment. All it had taken was for a reporter to identify her in relation to John's case. She was the mother of one of the victims ... one of the college students he'd car-jacked and killed in Watertown. But, apart from that interview, she was almost as reclusive as Andi. Andi wondered if they'd see each other the next day. Something still nagged her about that woman.
As she walked, Andi thought about what would come tomorrow. It was one final step in this saga.
She stopped and stared at the stadium ahead of her, considering its symbolism. She'd been ten when the towers fell, the Pentagon burned, and a group of passengers prevented further devastation from befalling the Capital or the White House. Five months after that day, after she'd turned eleven, the world gathered at this stadium. She supposed those Olympic Games came with a theme of recovery and coming together. Maybe it was fitting to be here now for the closing chapter of her own long spiel.
The sun was beginning to set behind her. Andi knew she ought to head back to the hotel. She thought she'd spotted a liquor store a block or so from the hotel. Maybe she could retrace her steps and pick something up for her and Marshall to share with whatever they'd find to eat.
* * *
As she moved towards the doors, Andi thought about how many times John had expressed his certainty that his actions would earn him a death sentence. How many references had he made to gurneys and needles and Indiana? It was several weeks after the ordeal when Andi went on the Internet and learned Terr Haute, Indiana, was was the site of a maximum-security prison. Within the walls of this facility was the federal government's Death Row and the Execution Chamber. This new information had made Andi sick and she'd vomited in a wastepaper basket upon digesting it.
Now, the time had come.
"You okay?" Marshall asked, placing a hand on Andi's shoulder.
Andi nodded.
"Let's go," she insisted.
A deputy Marshal stationed at the doors checked the passes they'd been given downstairs. When they were cleared through this checkpoint, the third or fourth since they'd entered the building, another court officer opened the door for them.
The courtroom was bustling as Andi entered with Marshall behind her. Due to space and security concerns, access to these proceedings had been strictly controlled, leaving many eager spectators on the wrong side of the doors. Given everything that happened, Andi was guaranteed a seat from the beginning. This was the first time she'd accepted it.
It took almost two and a half years before John Kirkland went to trial. After conferring with local prosecutors in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York and then with his superior in Washington, the U.S. Attorney for the federal district of Massachusetts filed murder charges in the deaths of Patrick Fahey and Mallory Whiteson. None of the effected states had capital punishment and there were limitations as to what the U.S. Attorney could do, but murder during a carjacking was a crime eligible for the federal death penalty. The U.S. Attorney General, having the final say on this matter, didn't hesitate in authorizing the prosecution's pursuit of John Kirkland's execution.
The Assistant U.S. Attorney assigned to the case was a man in his fifties named Carl Hasson. A lifelong prosecutor, he understood legal proceedings and when to fight ridiculous motions. He also understood when a token protest was more appropriate. The motion for a change of venue filed by the team of federal public defenders assigned to represent John was the perfect example. The overwhelming publicity throughout New York and the New England region would make it impossible to seat an impartial jury of twelve plus six alternates. In addition, many state and federal judges in the area were recusing themselves because of their prior association with Superior Court Judge Michelle Powell, the jurist slain during the courthouse shooting in Boston.
The case was moved to the federal district of Utah. Eighteen people who were deemed impartial were selected and, in a rare move, sequestered in a hotel in downtown Salt Lake City. The trial, costing taxpayers well over a million dollars, lasted three months with almost a hundred witnesses testifying. Though the press was allowed to observe the proceedings, cameras and recording devices were banned. This left the reporters to go out and regale their colleagues and audiences every afternoon from the streets of Salt Lake City. Legal experts also saturated the news programs and talk shows, dissecting and analyzing every move made and every word uttered inside the courtroom. It was a level of attention this city of two hundred thousand people had not seen in twenty years.
Some reporters watched as Andi and Marshall slid into seats. The couple was a few rows behind the prosecution table, where Carl Hasson and his assistants were completing last-minute preparations.
Looking out at the spectator gallery, Hasson spotted Andi. He stepped away from the table and through the gate separating the front of the courtroom from the gallery. With a few long strides, he reached her row.
"Mrs. Defesne," he said. "Good to see you."
They'd talked on and off over the past two years. At one point, Hasson considered putting Andi on the stand to testify. But, throughout the pre-trial preparations, motions, and hearings, he and the defense agreed not to mention the hostage crisis except for that a car with Patrick Fahey's missing license plate was found in the parking lot of the Ellison Elementary School and that John Kirkland's fingerprint was found on that license plate. The identity of the car's actual owner, Deputy U.S. Marshal Joseph Shaw, was likewise excluded from these proceedings as to not prejudice the jury by bringing up the shooting in Connecticut.
John's guilt in that attack was overwhelming. It turned out a security camera the Shaws installed over their front door recorded the entire incident, also proving that Eleanor Shaw was shot before she even bent to pick up her fallen husband's gun. John Kirkland could be seen on the recording and it was clear his actions hadn't been in self-defense as he claimed to Andi.
Hasson had offered Andi the opportunity to speak during the penalty phase of the trial. Andi suspected he wanted her to talk about her ordeal in excruciating detail in order to leave the jury with no choice but to send the defendant to Death Row. She declined without comment and Hasson was wise enough not to push the issue.
"It should be pretty quick today," the prosecutor commented as he reached over and shook Marshall's hand.
Andi nodded. She hadn't made up her mind about if John deserved the death penalty, whether for the murders of the two college students or his crimes as a whole. She'd never thought much about capital punishment. When she was fifteen, a reporter asked if, had her father not killed himself, should he have received the death penalty for killing her mother and brother. The question came up because her grandfather was about to hear a high-profile appeal by a man on Death Row in Tennessee convicted of murdering his ex-wife and her new husband in Nashville and attempting to cover up his deed by burning down their home. Furious, her grandfather terminated the interview before Andi needed to answer and made it his personal mission to keep the press away from his granddaughter. Since his live interview during the hostage crisis, he refused to make a single comment in relation to John Kirkland, not even responding to considerations that he would need to recuse himself from any future appeal the U.S. Supreme Court might receive from the man. He'd visited Andi several times since the crisis and the two avoided talking about the case. Still, Andi could see the rage in his eyes whenever John's name was mentioned on the car radio or somewhere similar. He probably wanted the man, the second to threaten his granddaughter's life, dead and Andi wouldn't blame him for it.
"I better get back," Hasson said, looking at his assistants up at the prosecution table. "We can talk later if you want."
Andi nodded and he moved back up the center aisle. He stopped to speak with another woman. Andi recognized her as Daphne Fahey, the mother of Patrick Fahey. She'd been on the news several times over the past two years, expressing her grief over her son's death and decrying the lengthy pre-trial preparations, though she blamed the defense attorneys for the latter. Another of Carl Hasson's gifts was appealing to victims and their families.
Andi supposed Patrick Fahey's father, Mark, was seated next to his wife, but she couldn't be sure while only seeing the back of the man's head. He wasn't looking at Hasson.
Andi was sure Mallory Whiteson's family was present, though she couldn't see them. They'd withdrawn from the public eye soon after John was arrested. Reporters were only able to catch glimpses of them as they attended court every day. Andi remembered the solitary interiiew Mallory Whiteson's mother gave, the one she'd seen at the hospital.
Looking around, Andi did catch glimpses of Sargent Greer from Suffolk County and Special Agent Nance from the FBI. Both had testified at the trial, though Sargent Greer's time on the stand was brief as he was only needed to establish the presence of Patrick Fahey's missing license plate at the Ellison Elementary School. Agent Nance's role in the case, and consequently his testimony, was more extensive. He was appointed the lead agent on the case after the murders in Watertown and had reviewed the evidence while the manhunt for John grew beyond Massachusetts's borders.
Andi had heard that Suffolk County Police Lieutenant Aldo Cruz had retired and was rumored to be fishing off the coast of California. He seemed to have made a clean break from the case. Given he'd held a supervisory role throughout the crisis, with his instructions being carried out by various entities, his testimony wasn't needed.
Across the aisle and a few rows up, Andi saw Tanya Kirkland, a.k.a. Dorothy Kaiser. She was sitting with a man around her age, probably her boyfriend or fiancée, and an older couple. They had to be John's parents. Andi couldn't be sure from the angle she had. The only reason she could infer anything was because Tanya had glanced back over her shoulder when someone mentioned her name.
No one had ever made it clear why Tanya wrote her children's books under the penname Dorothy Kaiser. Anyone who didn't know about this connection before knew it now. Through multiple press releases by her agent or publicist, Tanya offered her condolences for the victims and their families and expressed support for her brother. Rumors suggested her offer to pay his legal fees was rebutted, leaving John in the hands of three federal public defenders qualified for capital murder trials. Studying the woman, Andi couldn't tell what she was thinking now.
| Author Notes |
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional.
Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Oren Fischer: Associate U.S. Supreme Court Justice. Andi's grandfather. Phillip Caulder: principal of the Ellison Elementary School. Patrick Fahey: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Mallory Whiteson: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Enjoy. |
By teols2016
Previously in "The Teacher":
A gunman invades the Ellison Elementary School and takes a classroom hostage. While the teacher, Andi Defesne, attempts to talk to the assailant, Kevin Greer attempts to negociate on behalf of the police department, all while learning about underlying political implications.
Somewhere, a door opened and shut with an audible thwack. The volume of the chatter lessened, but Andi couldn't see what was happening.
"All rise," someone called. "This court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Burl H. Douglas presiding."
The door opened again and, as she rose to her feet, Andi was able to see the judge. Though this was her first time in the courtroom, she'd seen plenty of photos of him on the news and heard the biography. Born and raised in Aurora, Colorado, Judge Douglas went to college and law school there. After graduating, he was hired by a firm in Provo and relocated. Seven years ago, he was appointed to fill a vacancy in the United States District Court for the District of Utah. The Senate's confirmation was quick and unremarkable, ending with a vote of ninety-three to six. Surely, no one had anticipated that he would someday hear a high-profile case like this.
Judge Douglas seemed to be just under six feet tall with a widening mid-section. He had a full head of raven hair mixed with some gray, no beard, and a hint of a moustache. His dark robe looked freshly laundered and he wore elegant silver-framed glasses. He took a moment to situate himself behind the bench and set up his laptop. His court clerk, a young man with brown hair and what appeared to be his best dark-colored suit, likewise took his position.
"Be seated," Judge Douglas said. It was 9:30 in the morning and He already sounded tired. The three-month trial was a harrowing ordeal and that didn't include the pre-trial preparations which stretched back eighteen months, when the case was first moved into this courtroom. It was common knowledge that tHe judge was ready to put it behind him.
"Let's bring in the defendant," he instructed.
Andi didn't see anyone relay the judge's mandate. everyone waited.
Soon, the chatter rose again. Judge Douglas let it be, occupying himself with something on his computer. For all Andi could guess, he was playing solitaire. For the first time in her life, she was struck by the fact that, despite being raised by a sitting U.S. Supreme Court Justice, she did not know much about the legal system and its components, habits, and procedures.
The door opened for a third time and Andi watched the per session. Three court officers surrounded John, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit. He was secured by handcuffs and leg irons, both connected to a chain around his waist. Andi could hear the metallic clinks and clacks as he moved.
John was staring straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone on either side of the spectator gallery. He didn't even look at his own lawyers. His face was blank and his hands rested in front of him, held close together by the cuffs.
The court officers directed John towards the defense table and into a seat behind it. He looked down at the table. No one removed the restraints. Andi remembered a legal analyst explaining that, during the trial, the handcuffs were removed but the leg irons remained. Due to John's violent escape from the courthouse in Boston, precautions were called for and authorized to prevent any further breakout attempts. He was likewise required to wear a stun belt and snipers were posted on rooftops surrounding the courthouse. To keep any prejudicial or unconstitutional presumptions of guilt from being made by the jurors, both the prosecution and defense tables were draped with black cloth so John could only be seen from the waist up. Such presumptions were no longer a concern.
Throughout the trial, the news reported that John was brought to and from court wearing the handcuffs belonging to Boston Police Officer Richard Queenan, whom John was suspected of ambushing and killing during his flight out of Beantown. The fact was never mentioned in court, but outside, it was discussed and analyzed as much as anything else in the case.
Judge Douglas was also watching the court officers situate John next to his lawyers.
"Call the case," he instructed when everything seemed to be in order.
"Case number 2-5-1-8-6-2," the court clerk recited. "The United States versus John Kirkland."
Judge Douglas took a moment to survey the courtroom. Everyone looked back in silence.
"This is the sentencing hearing," Judge Douglas said. "I've received the jury's recommendation."
Since the jury made their recommendation out loud to a packed courtroom last month, no one needed to anticipate what it was.
"Are there any matters pending before this court?" Judge Douglas asked.
"No, Your Honor," Carl Hasson said, rising to his feet.
"No, Your Honor," one of the defense attorneys echoed, also rising.
"Mr. Kirkland," Judge Douglas said, looking at the defendant. "Would you like to say anything before I pronounce your sentence?"
Everyone looked at John. The man had barely said a word throughout the trial. He gave no interviews and didn't take the stand in his own defense. His defense team had argued he was insane and psychiatrists spoke for him. The jury's guilty verdict on all charges indicated how successful the doctors' efforts had been.
John looked up at the judge.
"No, Your Honor," he said and shifted his gaze down towards the wooden panels of the judge's bench.
Judge Douglas gave two slow nods.
"I understand emotions are high as we near the conclusion of this case," he said. "However, I would like to remind everyone they are to remain respectful. Any outbursts or disruptions of any kind will not be tolerated and you will be removed from this courtroom immediately. No arguments and no exceptions."
Without waiting for any acknowledgements, He picked up some papers and adjusted his glasses.
"In the matter of The United States versus John Kirkland," he read, "case number 2-5-1-8-6-2. On count one, the jury has found the defendant, John Kirkland, guilty of murder in the first degree as defined in 18 U.S. Code section 1111, subsection A, in the death of Mallory Whiteson."
Andi heard a single choked sob. She caught a glimpse of a blonde woman burying her face in her hands. Judge Douglas glanced at the gallery. He frowned but didn't say anything and returned to his papers.
"The jury was subsequently given the duty of recommending whether or not the defendant ought to be sentenced to death as allowed under 18 U.S. Code section 1111, subsection B, subsection 1," he continued reading. "The jury has failed to reach a unanimous recommendation as required under 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3593, subsection e."
The jury's non-unanimity the previous month was the biggest surprise of this "trial of the century". After a week of deliberation, the foreman reported they were hopelessly deadlocked ten to two in favor of death. With no other recourse, Judge Douglas thanked the jurors for their service and dismissed them. The legal experts on the news were still speculating about what had happened in the jury room. The only thing they all agreed on was that the judge was now left with only one option.
"therefore," Judge Douglas continued reading, "as required in 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3594, I sentence the defendant to a term of life imprisonment without the possibility of release."
He went on to impose a second life sentence for the murder of Patrick Fahey, repeating much of what he'd recited the first time, and five years for Flight to Avoid Prosecution. Andi remembered her grandfather telling her the federal system did not have the option of parole. The legal experts also mentioned this. The only way out was time off for good behavior. And there was no way to subtract time from a life sentence.
"Furthermore," Judge Douglas said, "as allowed by 18 U.S. Code sectionâ?¯3584, I am ordering that these sentences be served consecutively."
Two back-to-back life sentences without parole plus an additional five years. The intent was clear. John was to never be a free man again. With the violent escape in his history, he'd never see anything less imposing than a maximum-security prison, though many considered how even that wouldn't be enough. Finding another point to speculate on, the legal experts already predicted he would be sent directly to the supermax prison in Florence, Colorado, or a newer high-security facility in Thompson, Illinois. In either prison, he'd spend twenty-three hours in a cell with little human contact.
Judge Douglas banged his gavel and the court officers came back for the prisoner. As he rose to his feet, John looked around the courtroom. He briefly locked eyes with his family. Mrs. Kirkland wiped her eyes. Mr. Kirkland's jaw was tight. Tanya locked eyes with her brother, but she was soon looking down at her own feet, her eyes closing.
John looked around the courtroom again. Her heart skipping a beat, Andi wondered if he could see her. The courtroom was crowded, so her presence wasn't obvious. She wasn't sure if she wanted John to know she was there.
One of the court officers beckoned to John. John allowed himself to be taken away and soon disappeared through the door, which Andi caught a glimpse of for the first time. It looked so ... normal. She'd have expected something more technical and secure for someone who'd killed six people and terrorized many more. But this simple wooden door with its gray metal handle could almost belong in her own home or the school.
Looking back, Andi caught a glimpse of Carl Hasson. He and his assistants were packing up their papers at the prosecution's table. His face suggested relief and satisfaction with this outcome. Maybe he was glad it was over. Maybe he was glad he'd never have to witness an execution. Andi couldn't be sure.
With John gone, the interest was over. Many people who had no other business in this courtroom rose and filed out. The reporters rushed out to share what they'd seen.
Andi remained seated, watching the thick crowd move past her. She'd refused to talk about what happened so many times, people weren't trying anymore. Now, it was over. John was heading to prison. The publicity would erode over the next few days and something else would replace it in the news cycle.
As the crowd thinned, Andi turned to Marshall. She let out a long breath.
"Let's go," she said.
They rose to their feet and moved into the aisle.
"Andi!"
Andi stopped at the sound of her name. She turned. A woman with long, wavy blonde hair was coming towards her. The woman was wearing a black dress, like something one would wear at a funeral.
As the woman approached, Marshall glanced between her and Andi, waiting for a sign to tell him what to do.
"I'm sorry," the woman said, reaching them. "I felt ... I thought ... with everything that happened, I thought I should talk to you."
Andi stared at her, trying to decipher her motives.
"I'm Ashleigh Whiteson," the woman said. "I don't think we've ever met before. I never thought it was right to come speak to you before."
Andi realized this was Mallory Whiteson's mother. With the murdered young woman's face having been on the news so often the past few years, it was easy to compare her visage and see the family resemblance. But something in Ashleigh Whiteson's eyes said there was more to this encounter.
"I'm so sorry you had to go through this," Ashleigh Whiteson said. "With what happened before ... with what Matt did ... I'm so sorry."
Andi froze at the sound of her father's name. She heard it so rarely these days, even with the news sometimes recapping what happened twenty-three years ago.
Still studying the woman, Andi couldn't withhold a gasp. Ashleigh Whiteson nodded.
"I've felt so guilty about it over the years," she said. "I kept thinking if I hadn't allowed the affair to happen, maybe your family would still be alive. And now, what you had to go through with that man ..."
She glanced back at the door John had been taken through earlier.
"I'm so sorry," she said and began crying.
Andi couldn't believe this. The woman before her was both the mother of one of John Kirkland's victims and the paralegal her father had been having an affair with when he killed her mother, her brother, and himself so long ago. Of all the cases in all the courtrooms in all the world ... really, what were the odds?
"I left Rockville after that happened," Ashleigh Whiteson said, regaining her composure. "I moved to Boston, met and married someone wonderful, and had Mallory. I thought all that was behind me. Now ..."
She shuddered.
"I put it together when they first spoke about you on the news," she continued. "I should have come to see you then. I'm sorry I didn't. Everything just came flooding back ... all those emotions ... I just didn't want you to hate me on top of everything else."
The two women stood there, frozen for a few seconds. Marshall stayed next to Andi, ready to steer her away should she give a sign for him to do so. Finally, he withdrew a pack of tissues from his pocket and held it out for Ashleigh Whiteson, who plucked one out and wiped her wet eyes with it.
"I don't hate you," Andi said. "It wasn't your fault."
Sure, the woman had slept with her father, but it went much farther than just a simple affair. There were her father's mental problems and the probably legitimate accusations of embezzlement. This woman wasn't to blame.
Ashleigh Whiteson shuddered again.
"Still," she said, "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have needed to go through that. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Me, too," Andi said.
This woman had endured the scandal of the affair's revelation in the wake of her father's actions, causing her to relocate and start over in a place far away. Now, she'd lost her only child in a single, horrific act of senseless violence. Andi was sure Ashleigh Whiteson had taken on far beyond her fair share of suffering.
Andi thought, as she often had, about John's reasoning for choosing her and her students as his hostages. He'd claimed there was no specific selection process behind his actions, and Andi now felt like this was true. Like the people John had robbed, injured, and killed, they were unwittingly in his way. When he entered her classroom on that February morning, John acted out of impulse to try and improve his situation, just as he had when confronted or cornered in New England. The randomness of his actions made the odds of Ashleigh Whiteson standing in front of Andi in this courtroom even more astronomical.
"Take care of yourself," Ashleigh Whiteson said.
Before Andi or Marshall could respond, she turned and walked back up the aisle. Further up, Andi saw a man talking to Carl Hasson. She supposed this was Ashleigh Whiteson's husband. She couldn't recall his name. She wondered how much the man knew about his wife's past. He probably knew everything now.
As though driven by an involuntary spasm, Andi's eyes shifted over to the defense table. She could see John sitting there, staring straight ahead, his hands lying flat on the polished wood.
Then, the image changed. Andi saw her father sitting there. But she knew this couldn't be so. Her father had never needed to answer for what he'd done, at least not in a court of law. Still, he was sitting right there, waiting for Earth-bound judgement.
Andi blinked, the chair at the defense table was empty again. Both John and her father were gone, now just memories she'd have to contend with from time to time.
"You okay?" Marshall asked.
Andi nodded. She would contend with John and her father again whenever she had to, but they wouldn't run her life.
"Let's go," she said again.
Their rental car was packed and waiting in a parking garage down the block from the courthouse. They would grab a quick lunch and then head to the airport.
Andi took one more deep breath and turned towards the doors again. She led the way through and headed for the elevators down the corridor from the courtroom. Rey was waiting.
â??
The End
| Author Notes |
The final chapter. Thanks for going on this journey with me.
While Port Jefferson, NY, is a real town, the Ellison Elementary School is fictional. Cast of characters: Andi Defesne: 2nd grade teacher at the Ellison Elementary School in Port Jefferson, NY. Taken hostage alongside her students. John Kirkland: wanted for a violent courtroom shooting and escape in Boston, Massachusetts, and related murders. Sargent Kevin Greer: hostage negociator for the Suffolk County Police Department. In charge of negociating with hostagetaker John Kirkland at the Ellison Elementary School. Supervisory Special Agent Seth Nance: representative from the FBI's Boston field office. Assigned to the Kirkland case following the courthouse shooting. Lieutenant Aldo Cruz: Suffolk County Police official in charge at the scene of the hostage crisis at the Ellison Elementary School. Kevin's superior officer. Oren Fischer: Associate U.S. Supreme Court Justice. Andi's grandfather. Patrick Fahey: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Mallory Whiteson: junior at Northeastern University. Murdered in Watertown, MA, by John Kirkland during a carjacking. Marshall Shaffer: Andi's husband. Andi's father: murdered Andi's mother and brother and attempted to kill her before committing suicide when she was seven. Rey: a dog whom Andi and Marshall adopted after the hostage crisis. Feedback, especially recommendations for revisions, additions, and subtractions, are always welcome. Thank you for everything. Enjoy. |
|
You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author! |
| © Copyright 2015 teols2016 All rights reserved. teols2016 has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement