When Amalia came to, she opened her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. She was in bed once more in a poorly lit room. It was sparsely decorated and the wall was lined with medals and commendations. There was a portrait to the left with a picture of four men in their dress blues, standing rigidly for awhile they looked at the camera. In front of the right, a scraggly looking young man. All of eighteen years old. Maybe. He was thin and not very tough-looking, but Amalia would recognize the fierceness in that gaze anywhere.
Her eyes studied the room while she tried to piece together the events of the evening. She remembered leaving the hospital and being angry at Hunter. There were the guys in the alleyway, as well. She remembered waking up in the warehouse and freeing her hands. Beyond that, there was a gap in her memory. She had no idea how she had gotten from the warehouse to here.
From outside the room, she could faintly hear the sound of voices talking. Hunter? She tilted her head, listening. The other had to be Cage. They were speaking in whispers. Curious, Amalia rose from the bed, tiptoeing toward the door when the smell of blood met her nose. Looking around and then finally at herself, she saw traces of blood on her hands. Scanning the room, a pile of clothes lay in a bag off to the right. They were drenched in blood.
The sight of her clothes in that condition caused her knees to quake. Snippets of the evening floated in and out consciousness as she collapsed on the ground, staring numbly at the plastic bag in horror.
The resounding *THUNK* from her fall startled Hunter and Cage from their discussion. When they entered the room they found Amalia on the floor. She was sitting on her knees staring blankly at her clothes, her face ashen a feeling of fear began to fill the pit of her stomach.
"Did...Did..I?" She looked to Hunter and Cage desperate for confirmation and fearing it at the same time.
Hunter looked to Cage and gestured for him to give them some space. Once the door was closed he gently took the clothes from her hands and put them back in the bag. Hunter pulled into his chest, kissed her lightly on them and took a deep breath before explaining.
"Yes. We found you..in a warehouse. One man dead. The other dangerously close to it."
He could have sugar-coated it. But he wasn't the type. If she was going to take a life, she needed to responsible for it. She had before, but that had been different. It had been in a fair fight. Both participants had known the potential outcome. While death had been merciless her first time, it had been fast.
"The first man", He continued, "Bled out from his injury. The other is being interrogated."
Amalia swallowed as she listens to Hunter describe in detail, the wounds on the body. The extent of the damage. As she listened her face just grew whiter and whiter as she nodded.
"Was it...Was it them...At least?"
Hunter ran his fingers through her hair in an effort to calm her. He spoke slowly because he knew, this was where it was it was going to be the most painful.
"These were the only two men there. While they do not match the descriptions that we have, you don't need to feel any remorse. Do you understand? You cannot let this haunt you. It was self-defence."
He was rationalizing it for her. She needed the weight of the memories, but he wouldn't allow her to torment herself with guilt. He leaned his forehead against hers and whispered softly.
"They signed their own death warrant, the moment they touched what belonged to me.."
Hunters' words were soaking into her subconscious when he heard that last sentence. She lifted her eyes up to him quizzically, afraid to ask him to clarify the last statement.
Seeing her pause as she gazed up at him, Hunter leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against hers.
"You are mind, 'Lia. I promise, as long as you, no one will ever hurt you. Not ever again. You just have to trust me."
Amalia was dumbfounded. Had he really just confessed to her? On the heels of declaring her a murderess? It was a typical Hunter. He always seemed to find her at her worst moments. He always had the right words. Anytime she had ever felt lost in her own personal hell, he was always the one to pull her out.
Amalia swallowed against the growing lump in her throat and nodded her head. Her fingers curling tightly into his t-shirt. The smell of dried blood and sweat filled her nose making her nauseous. In the back of her mind, she could still hear the sound of the broom's handle pushing through her assailant's flesh. She felt the blood splash on her face as though she was back in the room. The ache in her shoulder was a dull reminder of the horrors she faced and she shivered.
The worst part was, he wasn't even the one person she needed dead. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She would never, for the life of her, forget the horror in his partner's eyes when she stood over him.
No matter how she fought it, the memory just continued to surge forward. Helplessly she clung onto Hunter's arms as she tried to remind herself it was over. "Breathe, Amalia, just breathe" she coaxed herself silently while she struggled to find her way through the sea of flashbacks which tormented her conscience.
Hunter stroked her back as he felt her shoulders shake. They stayed there like that for hours. It seemed every time she calmed down, she was revisited by the horror of her deeds. Hunter stayed by her side through the remainder of the evening, and into the next morning.