Her mouth was dry and tasted foul and she was wearing only her underpants. She vaguely remembered getting here, the doctor bringing her aunt inside and Dalton’s worried gaze. She sat up slowly and squinted out the window. The sun was high outside. A dull throbbing pain pulsed in the back of her skull and everything ached. There was no sign of her clothes, but her com was on the table by the bed. She picked it up. Totally dead. Next to the com was the grunt’s gun. She went to the bathroom, throwing her underwear in the cleaner. The shower stung the cuts on her back and arms and when she got out and looked in the mirror, she was shocked at what she saw. Her face was pale with dark circles under her eyes, the freckles scattered across her cheekbones standing out in sharp relief. Red fingerprint-shaped marks dotted her neck. I killed a man. The thought was in her head before she could lock it out. All the saliva in her mouth dried up and she sat heavily on the closed lid of the toilet, battling the urge to vomit again.
