But a police precinct is a FABULOUS locale for a reunion...
James-Michael managed to lead all of the caged people out of the warehouse, although it wasn't without an awkward skirmish or two. Thankfully, most of the cult members seemed to be trying to contain the trouble in the main area.
Although by the time he went back in, after the last prisoner had been left to freedom, to make sure Laura was all right, it had gotten very quiet. No sounds of fighting, no more screams.
He moved as quietly as he could, passing in between rooms and the hanging plastic and tarps that separated some of them.
All of a sudden there was a flash of light, and a shadow through the tarp, and then a dark figure was upon him.
James-Michael, for lack of a better word, flailed in surprise as the figure moved through the plastic. It certainly wasn't a punch--far too feeble. He thwacked the figure in the face--
"NYPD! Down on the ground!"
--And then found himself shoved, rather painfully to the concrete floor of the warehouse, a knee pinning him painfully in the back, and a group of rather irate police officers surrounding him with guns drawn.
"Ah, this is--officers, there are men in blue robes that had quite a few people imprisoned. I'm afraid I thought you were one of my captors; this is simply a misunderstanding--"
"I'm sure it was. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law--"
James-Michael squirmed. "I assure you. It was an accident, I didn't mean to--"
"That was assaulting a police officer. Why don't we throw resisting lawful arrest into the mix too? That's on top of murder, judging from all the bodies in this place."
James-Michael's voice was shrill. "You can't possibly think I've killed anyone..."
"You have the right to attorney..."
Apparently, they did.
"Oh dear."
Although by the time he went back in, after the last prisoner had been left to freedom, to make sure Laura was all right, it had gotten very quiet. No sounds of fighting, no more screams.
He moved as quietly as he could, passing in between rooms and the hanging plastic and tarps that separated some of them.
All of a sudden there was a flash of light, and a shadow through the tarp, and then a dark figure was upon him.
James-Michael, for lack of a better word, flailed in surprise as the figure moved through the plastic. It certainly wasn't a punch--far too feeble. He thwacked the figure in the face--
"NYPD! Down on the ground!"
--And then found himself shoved, rather painfully to the concrete floor of the warehouse, a knee pinning him painfully in the back, and a group of rather irate police officers surrounding him with guns drawn.
"Ah, this is--officers, there are men in blue robes that had quite a few people imprisoned. I'm afraid I thought you were one of my captors; this is simply a misunderstanding--"
"I'm sure it was. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law--"
James-Michael squirmed. "I assure you. It was an accident, I didn't mean to--"
"That was assaulting a police officer. Why don't we throw resisting lawful arrest into the mix too? That's on top of murder, judging from all the bodies in this place."
James-Michael's voice was shrill. "You can't possibly think I've killed anyone..."
"You have the right to attorney..."
Apparently, they did.
"Oh dear."