Any color that was left on the man’s face instantly drains.
Mine too.
Is Roman really going to torture this man? The idea makes me sick to my stomach.
Changing his mind, Roman turns from the tools and takes out his gun. He raises the pistol, pointing it directly at the man’s forehead.
I push open the door and step into the room. “Roman, don’t.” The words slice through the room just as surely as a gunshot.
Roman turns to me instantly, horror and surprise flashing in his eyes. “Amalie,” he says, his tone sharp and firm. “You should not be here.”
“What is this? What are you doing?”
He glances to the side for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer me.
“Is this man… was he part of the shooting?”
“Yes. I’m getting answers.”
He moves toward me, putting himself between me and the man in the chair. Andrei approaches, not saying a word.
“Go upstairs. Now,” Roman tells me.
“I won’t,” I reply, shaking my head. “Not if this is your way of getting answers.”
The man in the chair laughs, a sound of manic desperation. “She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything.”
Roman doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Amalie, look at me.”
Before I realize what’s happening, the man lunges and chaos ensues. The chair tips, hitting the steel floor with a bang. A blur rushes toward Roman. The metal of Roman’s gun flashes. Then, everything seems like it slows to an impossible crawl.
I scream.
Andrei rushes in.
The man pulls the gun from Roman’s grip, raising it in my direction. Before he can pull the trigger, Roman grabs his wrist with one hand and yanks the gun back with the other.
The pistol is just inches away from the man’s forehead. The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. The barrel flashes, the smell of gunpowder filling the room.
The man collapses to the floor, heavy and final.
My ears ring. My knees feel as if they may give out. Roman is suddenly in front of me, hands gripping my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he asks frantically.
I crane my neck a bit to look at the body, to make sure the man is dead. But he blocks me.
“Amalie, look only at me. You do not need to see that.”
He glances to Andrei, who responds with a silent nod. Roman then leads me out of the room.
I shake my head, numb. “That man. He… he was going to?—”
“I know,” he says, his voice now calm and even. “I know. But he didn’t.”
I don’t know what to say. First, the shooting at the Institute, then, walking in on the father of my child shooting a man in the head.
It’s unreal. But it’s my life now.
