Following Officer Parkins

Third Person P.O.V

It had been a relatively calm day for  Parkins before the call came.

He'd been playing cards with a college, just waiting for a job, when their phone had rung. On the other end of the line there had been a frantic woman reporting screams from inside the school and a lack of response when they were called. So the officer and his colleges rushed into their cars, sirens blaring, and sped off towards the high school.

All the way there the officer had been hoping that it was just a girl in her first dissection class and a busy secretary, but when they arrived he was instantly proven wrong.

A scream, filled with acute agony, rang through the air and all the officers were instantly on high alert.

"What do we do, sir?" A junior officer asked Parkins, she was called Smith, Patty Smith (A/n: Bond, James Bond).

"It looks like a hostage situation," He told her grimly, "and someone is being hurt, so we try to establish contact with the terrorists. I hope to God that it isn't one of the kids who's screaming like that."  The officer was desperately remembering his training, lessons he'd hoped to never have to use.

"Likewise, sir." Smith's voice wavered slightly, but she got on with her duty non-the-less.

Before long a line had been established through a child's cell-phone.

"I never thought I'd be this glad about a child braking the school rules." Muttered Parkins before taking the phone and starting the negotiation process.

"Hello, to whom am I speaking?" He asked.

"My name's not important, just call me Picasso, after all my art is amazing yet unappreciated and surly will be after my demise." The terrorist's insane ramblings alone was decidedly intimidating, you could hear the insanity drowning every syllable.

"What do you want," He swallowed down bile, "Picasso?"
"Oh nothing, I'm getting what I want right now. In fact you are keeping me from it." Perkins was getting worried now.

"What do you mean?"
"Well, I am an artist, my good man. I create art through the purest of crimson ink. It is quite beautiful." This man was sick! The definition of psychopath.

"You're hurting someone." It wasn't a question, but the psychopath answered anyway.

"Why yes. A young lad actually." Parkins clenched his teeth in horror and revulsion. "I was going to do my art on a young girl, quite the slut from the looks of her, but he volunteered to take it in her place." That poor boy. To be so noble, but to pay such a dear price. "He's alright though, didn't make a sound until I started with the torch. Very brave for such a young lad, for anyone in fact."

This was just getting worse. The detective could hear one of the junior officers being sick on the cement behind him.

"Is there anything I can do to prevent you from carrying on?" It was a futile attempt, but it was worth a shot.

"I'm afraid not, my good man. I find this canvas really quite interesting. But don't worry, once I've finished with him, if he doesn't do anything bad, then I will leave quietly, it will be more than worth it." Parkins was shaking in anger by then.

He was dreading the answer to his next question.

"What have you done to him?"

"Well, I started by carving lovely zig-zags and patterns slowly into his left shoulder and arm, they've really accentuated his muscles and the acid on the knife gives then a lovely hint of colour. Then, when he didn't make a sound at that, I moved on to burning: gives the canvas a rough texture. Now that got a reaction! He screams loud when you melt his skin." Parkins felt as though he was going to be sick. "It's quite entertaining, I'm quite enjoying this, I'll start doing something new soon, we should always exploit every technique at our disposal now shouldn't we, 'waste not, want not' as they so wisely say. He is really a remarkable canvas. The only negative thing about him as a canvas is that he is already marred, someone got there before me, not a centimetre of his flesh was left free for my use. Vexing." What did he mean? What had this kid been through?

"So there is nothing more to say."
"No, I believe not. I'll see you when we are done, my good man." Parkins hung up instead of dignifying such a sick, twisted individual with a response.

"Did everyone hear that?" The sea of officers surrounding him shakily nodded their heads. They all looked as if they were going to be sick, one or two of them actually had been. "We need to find a way into that school and we need to get them all-especially that boy- out of there, as unharmed as possible. He has faced horrors today and we are going to stop it before he has to face many more." They were nodding in agreement now. "So get going!"

He hoped to every God out there that they would get that poor boy out.

"What has that man done to him?"

-Samantha2611