drove her knee into the testicles of the man still preoccupied with her breast as her once-pinned arm lunged across the face of the second man, nails finding flesh in a blur of movement. Both men reeled from the onslaught, the knife clattering to the ground in the melee. As if programmed in her attack, she swung her foot into the midsection of the man now holding his bleeding cheek, the jagged snap of breaking ribs forcing an anguished cry as he dropped to his knees. The other man, somewhat recovered from the initial blow, tried to stand but was too slow to avoid the sudden jab of her elbow to his temple. His head smacked against the brick wall, a final burst of air shooting from his mouth before his unconscious body slumped to the hard cement of the alley floor. With equal force, she slammed her coupled fists into the prone neck of the man crouched two feet from her—clutching his chest—and watched as he, too, collapsed to the ground. Only the sound of her own panting breath cut through the silence of the alley. She stood frozen, her mind racing out of control, images of dark, sand-strewn streets forcing their way into her consciousness, tearing her from the cold embrace of the Manhattan night.
“You made the choice, Sarah. You accepted the responsibility.” A solitary face shone through the dank haze, a girl no more than twelve, thin streaks of blood trickling from the bullet hole on her forehead. “Someone had to be sacrificed. Someone.” With a frightened stare, her blue eyes faded to the shadowed recess as the bodies of eight young Jordanian soldiers appeared, each hung from a wire on the wall directly in front of her. The stench from their clothes filled her nostrils, forced her to move her hand to her nose. They dangled side by side , twisting gently against the wall—faceless bodies of men who had squealed in death and who now taunted her with their silence. “Say something! Anything!” she screamed. “I had to take you, to stop you! You were the priority, not her! Someone had to be….” The bodies continued to sway in a single rhythm. “Say something, damn you!” Her voice became choked with a torrent of tears. “Anything! Please, anything!”
The white light of the bulb cut through the shadows, extinguishing the horror before her, as a wave of nausea filled her throat. She lay back against the wall, at the mercy of trembling limbs and pumping adrenaline. A thousand voices reverberated within her skull, crackling against the deadly silence of the alley. Violence. Violence again, passionless and exact. She looked at the two men at her feet—still motionless. She had taken them without a thought, a swirl of activity that had come only too easily, spun from a part of her that longed for the anger, the destruction.
She had attacked. Provoked, yes, but she had been the one to unleash a blind fury, the rapid, staccato blows that might very well have killed them both. No thought, only pure animal instinct. Could she have killed? Would it have been that easy for her to slip so far back? She didn’t know, couldn’t make sense of the questions that hammered within her head. Oh God! Oh God! I was out of control.
Somewhere within, a single voice told her she had to move, distance herself from the bodies. Clinging to the wall and unable to tear her focus from the unconscious figures, she slowly edged her way along to the alley’s entrance. A car raced by as she reached the sidewalk, forcing her to stare out into the empty street, to try to forget the men behind her. The cold calculation of the assassin was gone, replaced by a crippling fear, and Sarah stood alone, suddenly aware that her clothes were drenched in sweat. She began to tremble as she dug her hands into her pockets so as to fold the coat around her. Somewhere safe. Find somewhere safe. Again, the voice led and she followed in numb submission, back toward Sixth, back toward lights, people, and the security of others. She didn’t run—somehow
“You made the choice, Sarah. You accepted the responsibility.” A solitary face shone through the dank haze, a girl no more than twelve, thin streaks of blood trickling from the bullet hole on her forehead. “Someone had to be sacrificed. Someone.” With a frightened stare, her blue eyes faded to the shadowed recess as the bodies of eight young Jordanian soldiers appeared, each hung from a wire on the wall directly in front of her. The stench from their clothes filled her nostrils, forced her to move her hand to her nose. They dangled side by side , twisting gently against the wall—faceless bodies of men who had squealed in death and who now taunted her with their silence. “Say something! Anything!” she screamed. “I had to take you, to stop you! You were the priority, not her! Someone had to be….” The bodies continued to sway in a single rhythm. “Say something, damn you!” Her voice became choked with a torrent of tears. “Anything! Please, anything!”
The white light of the bulb cut through the shadows, extinguishing the horror before her, as a wave of nausea filled her throat. She lay back against the wall, at the mercy of trembling limbs and pumping adrenaline. A thousand voices reverberated within her skull, crackling against the deadly silence of the alley. Violence. Violence again, passionless and exact. She looked at the two men at her feet—still motionless. She had taken them without a thought, a swirl of activity that had come only too easily, spun from a part of her that longed for the anger, the destruction.
She had attacked. Provoked, yes, but she had been the one to unleash a blind fury, the rapid, staccato blows that might very well have killed them both. No thought, only pure animal instinct. Could she have killed? Would it have been that easy for her to slip so far back? She didn’t know, couldn’t make sense of the questions that hammered within her head. Oh God! Oh God! I was out of control.
Somewhere within, a single voice told her she had to move, distance herself from the bodies. Clinging to the wall and unable to tear her focus from the unconscious figures, she slowly edged her way along to the alley’s entrance. A car raced by as she reached the sidewalk, forcing her to stare out into the empty street, to try to forget the men behind her. The cold calculation of the assassin was gone, replaced by a crippling fear, and Sarah stood alone, suddenly aware that her clothes were drenched in sweat. She began to tremble as she dug her hands into her pockets so as to fold the coat around her. Somewhere safe. Find somewhere safe. Again, the voice led and she followed in numb submission, back toward Sixth, back toward lights, people, and the security of others. She didn’t run—somehow
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