Stockholm

The morning of the... the... what should I call it? If I call it an accident, it seems too 'hit by a falling ceiling fan'-y. But it really wasn't a hostage situation so much. Well, that morning wasn't at least. I guess I'll just call it the take over, because that's what happened. Sam Harvey took over the school and got away with me in tow. Of course, no one knew who he was then. Just some mentally unhinged man who happened to go crazy near one of the many inner city schools on one rainy morning. That rainy morning was just like every other morning. I woke up, rolled out of bed, and drove to school, clutching my steering wheel and trying to stay awake while the scent of my hot coffee wafted from the cup holder. I got to school ten minutes early, settling into my class before all the other kids got in. I didn't talk to any one; most of my friends I didn't even see until fourth period. Everything was fine and dandy. We analyzed the previous night's reading, wrote and in class essay, and then moved on to second period.
By third period I was absolutely exhausted, and I wanted nothing more for my free period to hit so I could nap. In the middle of third, I excused myself to the restroom. I was just finishing up when the first shots were fired.

It's hard to explain the feeling that makes it's way through your body the first time you hear gun shots in close proximity. It's like your heart freezes, but pounds into overdrive all at the same time. My legs began to shake as I heard people in the lobby screaming. I scurried back towards the stalls, sitting on top of one of the toilets, pulling my legs up. I wanted to cry, but at the same time, I knew I shouldn't. I just didn't want to attract the shooter closer to me. I stayed put for what seemed like forever. I knew other people must be cowering under desks, or being comforted by teachers, and I felt a little cheated by this whole experience. Here I was, in the middle of a crisis, and while everyone else was creating bonds to last a life time with teachers and other classmates, I was alone. Cowering on a toilet.

I nearly fell into the toilet when I heard a cracking noise, like someone was smashing through doors. It had to be coming from the boys bathroom, because it sounded breathtakingly close. I closed my eyes, murmuring under my breath. "Please someone come save me, please someone come save me!"

Of course, no one came. And no one would come. At least, no one I wanted to come.
The booming noises had stopped, I hadn't heard a gunshot in a while, and for a few moments, I thought I would be safe and someone would come get me and I'd get to go home early to recall the terrifying tale to my parents. But then the main door to the girls bathroom slammed open, and I gave up all hope. I stayed as quiet as I could as the stalls next to me were flung open. Being that I was in the smaller bathroom and there were only three stalls, I didn't see much hope for me. So I kept my eyes closed and just prayed that something would happen, that I wouldn't be found. I think that's when I gave up on believing in god. Because I prayed so hard, and yet still, he tried to push in my stall and found that it was locked, and then he yelled at me that if I didn't unlock it, he'd shoot me, and I was forced to unlock it and face this crazy man that was probably going to kill me in the next few minutes.

He grabbed me by my arm and pulled me out of the stall, shoving me towards the wall.

"Please, please no." I whispered. I wasn't begging, I didn't want to beg, especially not to some nameless skinny criminal with a masked face. It was more of a whisper to my self than to anyone else.

"Shut up." The man growled, taking my arm again and dragging out of my building.

"Let go! Why are you doing this?! Who are you?!" I exclaimed, trying my hardest to sound brave. I just felt like that was what I had to do. I had to be brave, and then maybe he wouldn't kill me, and if he did kill me he would think I wasn't scared.

"I said shut up!" He snapped again, yanking me in front of him and putting one arm around my neck, the other tapped the mouth of a gun at my temple. My brave facade dropped along with my stomach. Tears surfaced and I let them fall. This whole time, I'd been thinking of in movies, how people act brave and they don't get killed, or they get kidnapped and they get free because they're so brave. It took me having to be this close to having my brains blown out to realize that I'm not brave. I'm just a scared little junior. Mrs. Anderson, the woman who manned the front desk let out a shriek of terror when she spotted me, and immediately put up her hands.

"Don't call the cops, or I swear, I'll blow her fuckin head off!" The man yelled, pulling me roughly backwards with him. This is it. I'm going to die. I'm going to die a death that isn't noble at all. I bet in a few years, people will make fun of my death. 'Remember that one girl who died in the lobby after crying and peeing her pants?' Shit, I don't wanna die! I thought, bringing my hands up to grab onto the man's arm that was wrapped around my neck.

"P-please no." I stuttered, my whole body shaking.

"Shhh." The man hissed, pushing my head closer to his chest using the gun. I whimpered in fear, deciding that it probably wouldn't be long now.

"We won't call the cops. We'll let you take anything you want, please we will give you anything you want, just let go of the girl!" The man glanced around, but locked his eyes on the window. There were cops. Cops starting to fill the outside of the building, and I think he got scared. He moved his gun from my head and aimed it at Mrs. Anderson.

"I told you not to call the cops!" And with that, he pulled the trigger. Mrs. Anderson fell to the ground, and I screamed.
"Come on." He grumbled, pulling me back towards the bathrooms. This man seemed to know the building, which meant that he knew there was a door by the bathroom that led to the basement, and there were several not very well known by the public exits through the basement, which terrified me. He pushed me down the stairs in front of him, always catching me by the collar of the shirt to make sure I didn't face plant all the way down the stairs.
When we got to the basement, he pushed me onto the ground and ordered that I stay put. He then managed to unlock one of the exits, and looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear.
Apparently it was, because he pulled me up off the ground.
"Cell phone. Give it to me. Now." He ordered, holding out his hand. I made no move to give in to him. My phone was my last hope. If he took it, I would have no way to communicate with the outside world. I needed it. "Kid, I mean it. Cell phone." He pointed his gun at me. I bit my lip, but complied, handing him my cell phone. He tossed it in one of the random boxes that lived in the basement, then grabbed my hand, pulling me out the door of the basement into the bright light of day. He hurried me along the streets, all the while promising me that if I said anything, he'd shoot me dead, along with anyone who I tried to tell. So I stayed quiet, letting him pull me to some little sports car that required the movement of the drivers seat to get me out. He shoved me into the back and then got into the drivers seat.

As we drove away, past the police, past the ambulances and stretchers, onto the highway, I felt my fear melt away. Maybe it was shock. Maybe I was just really stupid. I just assumed there was no reason to fear anymore. Obviously I wasn't gonna make it. It was like I'd been drugged or something. I couldn't really feel anything.

We arrived at a fairly big house in a gated community, something I didn't expect from a guy like the one I was currently traveling with. He parked the car in the garage, moved up his chair, and pulled me out.

"Let's go." He grumbled, pushing me into the house. It was dark, but you could tell that someone other than this man had done the decor. He walked me up the stairs and into a bedroom. It was in the middle of the house, and had no windows. The door had some complex lock that you needed to password to get in and out of. There was all the regular makings of a nice bedroom, and it just seemed weird.

"What am I doing here?" I asked, sass entering my tone. The man smiled at me, a genuinely happy looking smile, and it scared the shit out of me.

"Little Shiloh Oakley," he mused, pacing absent mindedly around the room.

"How do you know my name? I...I was random! No one said my name!" I exclaimed. The previously numb feeling that had taken over my body was gone, and instead it was replaced with a fast beating heart and a feeling of dread.

"Kid, you were anything but random."

"What do you mean?"

"Shiloh Oakley. You're a prisoner of war."

His words rang in my head as he left the bedroom, locking the door behind him.

And to think, all this stemmed from a normal Monday morning.