I. The Price of Vengeance

8. Just my luck...

Charlotte's POV

(This chapter starts before Chapter 7)

Charlotte had only just managed to leave Oli's house when she got a text from her dad:
"Hey honey,
Got dumped with the night shift again. Mind coming and lending your old man a hand? :P
Love, Dad"

She rolled here eyes. He only asked for help when it was a paperwork shift.
"Just my luck..." she muttered to herself, "I was hoping for a night to myself..."

"Hi Dad,
Just left Oli's now. It's a long way to walk from here. Be happy to help if I can get a lift/you can come and pick me up.
Charlotte x".
She didn't know why she tried to make this excuse. It never worked.

"Sure thing, just hang tight near the usual spot. :)" was his immediate reply.
"Well, I tried," she muttered to herself.

Later

It was midnight by the time Charlotte had "helped" her dad organise the paperwork. I.e. She'd organised it while he'd covered the rest of the jobs he had to do. She sighed to herself. Had it been a good idea for her not to bring up the attack on the Fifth Street with Oli? She wasn't sure whether telling him would have put his mind at ease, or caused him to do something similar. She hoped she had done the right thing.

"Hey Charlotte, have you seen your dad anywhere?"

Charlotte looked up to see Detective Blake peeking his head around the door. She liked Blake, he reminded her of her dad. Just a bit older-looking.

"I haven't, sorry, he left to see Commissioner Nudocerdo a while back. He hasn't come back yet. Want me to leave him a message?"

"Nah, I'll find him, just wanted to ask him whether he wanted to grab a drink tomorrow night."

"I'll let him know you were looking for him," Charlotte smiled at the detective as he left.

No sooner had he gone out of sight when the fire alarm screamed throughout the building. Detective Blake burst back into the room, her dad swiftly behind him. Andrew Taylor had short brown hair and wore large, square glasses. He was currently wearing police body armour, with a pistol in hand and a seriously worried face. Both he and Detective Blake were.

"I thought there wasn't a fire drill?" Charlotte asked hopefully, but realising how much of a stupid comment it was as soon as it exited her mouth.

"It's not a drill. And it's no fire," her dad said, suppressed panic clearly in his voice.

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked. Then she heard it. An angry, metallic screeching sound. This noise would haunt Charlotte for the rest of her life. That, and what would follow.

Her dad, wide-eyed, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in the direction of the front door of the precinct.

"Are you crazy?!" Detective Blake yelled, grabbing her dad by the arm, "It came in that way!"

"What came in? Dad, you're scaring me, what's going on?" Her voice was almost drowned out by another screech, this time, closer.

"Baby, I do not have time to explain, you just need to promise me you'll do everything I say and run!"

He didn't even wait for a response as he dragged her down the corridor, Detective Blake right behind Charlotte, covering her. As they rounded the final corner, she saw a SWAT team training their weapons on the stuff of nightmares. A human figure with a flaming skull was stood there, an officer's head in its hands. The officer looked no older than twenty and Charlotte had only seen him in the precinct once or twice.