Page 85 of Because of Logan

Steven signals and we close in behind him. He looks around the corner and calls out.

“Drop your weapon and get on the ground!”

The suspect whirls around and looks at me and Steven, raising his gun in our direction. We both take cover behind the wall, which is not an ideal situation since only two of us can look at him and take cover at the same time. As expected, he shoots at us. We duck behind the wall again. The gunshots are much louder now that we’re so close to him. Four more shots. The sound echoes in the empty hallway. Plaster rains on the ground as a cloud of dust settles around us. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air and coats my throat with a sharp and pungent metallic flavor. We wait and listen for his footsteps. Nothing. I’m holding my breath in a futile attempt to slow down my heart, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins won’t allow it. We’re going to have to take this guy down before he hurts someone. I’ve been lucky as a cop. I’ve never had to shoot at anyone before, and I don’t want to now. Steven looks at me and must read the hesitation in my face. This is not the place or time to second-guess myself. I think of Skye and the armed suspect who’s putting her life at risk and keeping me from getting to her. Coldness like I’ve never felt before washes over me. I would kill him with my bare hands, rip him to shreds to keep Skye safe. The realization shocks me, but I don’t have time to dwell on it right now. Steven is still watching me, and whatever he sees now must satisfy him because he nods at me to take position. The other guys fall into place as well. Steven calls out again.

“Last chance to drop your weapon. You don’t want to do this. They’re just kids—”

“I don’t want to hurt the kids. I just want my wife. She won’t talk to me.”

“Okay, we can get her for you,” Steven bluffs.

“Just put the gun down, and we’ll make sure to get her. What’s her name?”

“No!” he screams.

“I need my gun. This is the only way. I know she’ll come if she thinks I’ll hurt her students.”

“I’m Steven. What’s your name?”

Steven asks in a friendly tone, like they just met and are sharing a beer.

There’s hesitation. We can hear him shuffling.

“Just your first name and your wife’s, so we can get her for you,” Steven goes on.

There’s perspiration around his temples, and I realize that cold sweat is running down my spine.

“My name is Joe and my wife’s name is Regina.”

Steven signals for one of the guys in the back, and he goes out to get more information on the teacher. There’s only silence over my earpiece. We stay quiet as not to alert the shooter of what’s happening on our side of the wall. It feels like hours, but it’s been only minutes.

“Joe? We’re sending one of the guys to get Regina. Why don’t you put the gun down, so you can talk to her when she gets here?”

“No. Get her first, and then I’ll put the gun down.”

“Now, Joe, you know we can’t do that. For everyone’s safety, you have to put the gun down first.”

“No. If I put it down, she won’t talk to me.”

I hear quiet steps behind me. We have backup now, and one of them has an iPad with a live feed from the security cameras in the hallway. We can see the suspect—Joe—in the grainy black and white video. He’s pacing, a rifle in his hand, a duffel bag on the floor near him, and I bet it has more guns and ammo inside. Vermont gun laws are very lax. Visitors and residents can openly carry firearms or conceal them without a permit, and they can buy rifles and shotguns as easily as a can of soda. Handguns take a little more work as they have to be shipped through a federal firearms seller. There could be anything inside that bag, and knowing this terrifies me. The newcomers signal for us to pay attention to the communication from our earpieces.

“The suspect is one Joseph James Orcher, forty-seven, married to Regina Ann Orcher. It seems that they are going through an ugly divorce and he’s none too happy about it. They have one kid, twelve years old, same name as the father.”

I hold my breath for what I know is coming.

“The wife is on this floor, room 307, and her roster has twenty-seven students in it. We can’t confirm if all students in her classroom are in attendance.”

I should be thinking of the task at hand, but all I can think about is Skye. Her name pounds into me with each frantic beat of my heart.

Steven resumes negotiations.

“Hey, Joe? We talked to Regina. She said she’ll come out and talk to you, but you have to put the gun down. We can’t let her come in here if you are still armed.”

“No. You’re lying. It’s a trick, I just know it. She’s in one of these rooms. I just need to find out which one.”

We watch the video feed. He’s pacing frantically now, trying to look into the small windows of the two classrooms closest to him. I look the opposite way down the corridor he’s in, noting the numbers above the doors.

Jesus Christ.

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