"…It's probably just another prank call. You know most of them turn out that way these days, right?"
Harry's voice came from the passenger seat, casual but skeptical.
I glanced at him while keeping one hand on the wheel, the other holding a cigarette. I blew the smoke out the window, the afternoon sun glaring against the windshield.
"Harry," I said evenly, "Stop grumbling like an old man. You should know better…nothing ever goes right around high schools anymore." I flicked the cigarette out the window, memories of past incidents flashing through my mind, each one worse than the last.
Harry scoffed and leaned back in his seat.
"So, you're saying it's another high school shootout?" he asked.
I stopped at a red light, eyes fixed on the road.
"No," I replied without looking at him. "I'm saying you need to be ready for the worst."
Harry studied my face, then let out a quiet chuckle.
"My God, Peter. Do you know, because of that serious face, no woman wants to be around you? you never drop a joke. At least try to have a sense of humor, pal."
I turned to him, my eyes twitching slightly, the corner of my mouth tightening.
"What about you, huh? If some stranger was here, they'd probably think you had a thousand exes. They wouldn't know you ended up marrying one of your cousins...pal."
His eyebrows twitched.
"…Even after five years working together, you still haven't dropped that cousin crap? For the thousandth time…she's the daughter of my father's cousin!" he spat.
I scoffed as he reached into my uniform pocket, pulled out my pack, and lit a cigarette.
"Heh. That still doesn't change the fact," I said, clearly just messing with him the way he did with me. He knew I was teasing.
"Yeah, yeah. Everything you say," he muttered after blowing out smoke.
I chucked a little, pleased now.
Then turned my eyes back to the road.
"…"
"…"
The silence between us grew heavier, broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint crackle of the police radio, and the smell of cigarettes.
...
"So, this is the place? Franklin's Public Mixed High School?" Harry asked as we pulled up to the destination.
"Public Mixed?" I muttered. "That's even worse. Incidents always seem to happen more at schools like these."
We checked our gear inside the patrol car…armor vests snug against our chests, pistols loaded. The silence between us grew, the kind that only comes before stepping into something dangerous.
Without another word, we opened the doors. A cold wind swept past, clouds swallowing the sunset.
The school loomed ahead: a tall, square building, each classroom marked by four windows, steel doors guarding the entrance. The gray concrete façade stood stark against the green lawn, the school's name etched on a sign at the corner.
"Damn," Harry muttered as we approached. "Fifteen years after graduating, and I'm still coming back to these damned prisons."
I said nothing, already moving toward the steel doors.
My hand pressed against the walkie-talkie clipped to my vest.
"01712 to HQ. We've arrived at the destination. Awaiting orders."
Static crackled before a voice came through.
"01712, loud and clear. At approximately 2:53 pm, we received a call…lots of commotion on the other end. We believe an assault is taking place. Signal traces pin point to the storage room at the back of the building. Proceed with caution. Understood?"
"Copy that. We'll investigate the storage room first," I replied.
The line went dead.
"Who would've thought I'd be spending my precious weekend back at a school?" Harry said dryly.
I couldn't help but let out a chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing for a moment.
"…Let's finish this fast then," I replied, already moving toward the steel doors, unwilling to waste time on Harry's useless chatter.
With that, we pushed inside.
...
We reached the storage room with a janitor, a middle-aged man clutching his keys nervously.
"This is the storage room," he said quietly.
"Stay back," I ordered as we pushed the door open.
The room was swallowed in darkness, clouds outside blocking the light. Nothing was visible.
"Turn on the lights," Harry told the janitor, stepping in behind me.
…Flick!
The sound echoed through the silent storage.
And then we saw it.
A shelf had collapsed near the right wall, pinning someone's legs beneath it. In the center, a large box, maybe a desk, lay toppled, and beside it a girl sprawled unconscious, her clothes disheveled.
But none of it was worse than what lay three feet ahead.
A boy was down, his back against the cold concrete floor, a thin black knife buried in his left side.
Without hesitation, I rushed to him, abandoning protocol. I didn't know why, but I felt I had to save this kid.
As I knelt beside him, I heard the janitor whispering prayers and Harry cursing under his breath. I ignored them, pressing two fingers against the boy's neck.
"…"
"…"
"…H-he has a pulse!" I shouted. Relief surged, fragile but real.
My hands trembled as I took in the wound. I'd handled first aid before, but this was different. The knife had done terrible damage. I knew basic steps, but it wasn't enough. He needed a hospital.
"Fuck! Get a first aid kit now!" Harry barked at the janitor.
The man sprinted off without a word.
I quickly checked the ground. Blood had spread across the concrete, soaking into the cracks. Too much.
And time was running out.
"Harry!" I shouted without looking at him, "Ambulance!"
But there was no need…Harry was already on the radio, giving the address. He knew how to handle situations like this; we'd faced our share together.
Harry came closer as I ripped a strip from my uniform, pressing it against the wound. Pulling the knife out would be suicide…The boy would bleed out in seconds. All I could do was slow the bleeding.
"…What the fuck just happened here?" Harry muttered, stunned as he finally saw the full scene.
But I wasn't concerned about the chaos around us. My only focus was saving this kid. Harry could handle everything else.
"...Huff... puff... I b-brought it," the janitor wheezed as he stumbled in with the first aid kit. I snatched it from his hands and worked quickly, pressing supplies against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding as fast as I could.
"…Stay with me, kid. You're gonna make it," I whispered…not to him, but more to myself.