Chapter 10 - The Final Rescue
Jackson hit the gravel roof with a loud groan, dropping his weapon as blood immediately stained his shirt.
Lorraine collapsed onto her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as she watched her son writhe in pain.
The younger officer kept his gun trained on Jackson while simultaneously pulling a secure radio from his belt.
"Suspect is down, secure the Chief of Staff on floor seven and send medical to the roof," he barked into the radio.
He looked over at me, lowering his weapon slightly, and flashed a small, reassuring smile.
"I am Special Agent Thomas with the FBI, Emily," he explained, holding up a federal badge. "We have been building a case against this syndicate and the corrupt local cops for two years."
He revealed that he had been placed deep undercover in the local precinct to gather evidence on the older officer.
When I called 911 earlier that day, it triggered a massive, premature raid that nearly blew his cover entirely.
He had to play along at the house to keep his partner from executing me on the front porch.
Within minutes, the roof was swarming with real, heavily armed federal agents and honest paramedics.
They handcuffed Jackson to a stretcher and wheeled him away to face a lifetime in a federal prison.
Dr. Miller and the older corrupt cop were dragged out of the hospital in heavy chains in front of the local news cameras.
Lorraine was rushed down to the emergency room to be treated for her severe injuries.
As she was wheeled past me, she reached out and weakly squeezed my hand, offering a silent, tearful apology.
I picked Mia up, burying my face in her neck, finally allowing the sheer terror to leave my exhausted body.
We were escorted to a safe, secure hotel where we slept for two entire days without waking.
A few weeks later, the FBI relocated us to a quiet, beautiful coastal town under a protective witness program.
The air smelled like salt and pine trees, and I finally felt like I could breathe normally again.
Mia was playing happily in the fenced backyard of our new, secure house, completely oblivious to the nightmare we had survived.
I walked down the long driveway to check the heavy metal mailbox for the very first time.
Inside the box sat a brand new, pristine rag doll, completely identical to the torn Rosie we had left behind.
May you like
A small yellow sticky note was pinned to the doll's chest with a familiar, sharp silver medical needle.
The note, written in my own unmistakable handwriting, read, "You forgot about me."
