Happily (A Niall Horan Fan Fiction)

Call For Help

Niall's POV:

The next week, everyone in the Chicago Bureau greeted Stella back. The case was still in hold. I don't even know why anymore.

Stella and I were talking at lunch when my phone rang. I excused myself and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Patrick. I n-need your help. My foster mom has a boyfriend and he is hurting her and me. He's drunk."

"Where are you, Patrick?"

"At the pay phone in Motel 6. I wheeled myself here but he is coming after me with a gun."

"Ok. Ok. I'll be there Patrick, don't worry."

And I hung up.

"Stel, I gotta go." And ran out the front doors. Since Motel 6 was kind of within walking distance, I ran. Stella came running after me.

"Niall? What are you doing?"

"Nothing, go back inside."

"No."

"I don't want you getting shot again." I yelled back.

"What?!" She yelled, scared.

"Never mind." and I continued down the street to Motel 6.

I got there and ran around the side to the phone booth. Patrick was sitting in his wheelchair in the phone booth crying and twiddling his thumbs.

"Patrick." I said and knelt down.

His face was red and he had bruises scattered across his face. His arms and leg had bruises as well and red marks.

Stella came running around the corner.

"Niall!? What are you do-" She stopped when she saw Patrick.

"Get him inside." I said. Stella wheeled him inside and we told the lady who worked there to keep him safe. He was put in room 9 and I told the lady only to let me or Stel get him. Patrick's house was only a block down so we ran there.

"FBI! We are coming in." I said. I broke down the door and saw someone lying on the ground.

"Are you Ms.Cole?" I asked.

"Y-yes. Is Patrick ok?" She said worried.

"Yes, he called me."

Stella helped her up and she was beat even worse than Patrick.

"Stay here." I whispered to Stella.

"No."

"Yes. I'll be fine." I answered and she glared at me before I ran out the door.

I made my way to Motel 6. The lady at the front desk was arguing with a man.

Then he pulled out a gun. I pointed my gun towards him and ran in.

"FBI! Put the gun down." I told the man.

He turned around to face me.

"Hey, pretty boy."

"What's your name?" I asked frustrated.

"Blake."

"Put the gun down."

"You're not going to arrest me."

"You beat a woman and a child."

"So? They deserved it."

"How the fuck did an eight year old in a wheelchair deserve it?" He didn't answer.

"Just put the gun down."

"I'll put yours if you put yours." He said.

We did at the same time and kicked them away.

Suddenly he pounced on top of me and punched me in the cheek.

I mouthed 'go' to the lady to protect Patrick.

I punched him back in the face.

"You're a fighter huh pretty boy?" He said and punched me again.

"Stop calling me pretty boy." I demanded.

"No. You should take that as a compliment." I tarted to feel blood in my mouth as he punched me again. I spat the blood out at him.

"You shouldn't have done that pretty boy." He looks at me angry. He grabs a knife from his pocket and was about to stab me when someone throws him off of me.