In Death 03 - Immortal in Death

the mechanism to open the windows. He needed air.
    "I don't know if I blacked out, maybe for a minute, I think. But I couldn't get past the pain. Sometimes you can."
    "Yes," he said dully. "I know."
    "But it was so enormous. Black, greasy waves of pain. And he wouldn't stop. The knife was in my hand. It was just there, in my hand. I stabbed him with it." She let out a shuddering breath as Roarke turned to her. "I stabbed him, and kept stabbing him. Blood was everywhere. The raw, sweet smell of it. I crawled out from under him. He might have been dead already, but I kept stabbing him. Roarke, I can see myself, kneeling, the hilt in my hand, blood past my wrists, splattered on my face. And the pain, the rage pounding at me. I just couldn't stop."
    Who would have? he wondered. Who could have?
    "Then I pulled myself into the corner to get away from him, because when he got up, he'd kill me. I passed out or just zoned, because I don't remember anything else until it was daylight. And I hurt -- I hurt so bad, everywhere. I got sick. Really sick, and when I was finished, I saw. I saw."
    He reached down for her hand, and it was like ice, thin, brittle ice. "That's enough, Eve."
    "No, let me finish. I have to finish." She pushed the words out as though she were shoving rocks off her heart. "I saw. I knew I'd killed him, and they'd come for me, put me in a cage. A dark cage. That's what he'd always told me they did if you weren't good. I went in the bathroom and washed off all the blood. My arm -- my arm was screaming, but I didn't want to go in a cage. I put on some clothes and I put everything else that was mine in a bag. I kept imagining he was going to get up and come for me, but he stayed dead. I left him there. I started walking. It was early, early in the morning. Hardly anyone was out. I threw away the bag, or I lost it. I can't remember. I walked a long way, then I went into an alley and hid until night."
    She rubbed a hand over her mouth. She could remember that, too, the dark, the stench, the fear overriding even pain. "Then I walked more, and kept walking until I couldn't walk anymore. I found another alley. I don't know how long I stayed there, but that's where they found me. By then, I didn't remember anything -- what had happened, where I was. Who I was. I still don't remember my name. He never called me by my name."
    "Your name's Eve Dallas." He cupped her face in his hands. "And that part of your life is over. You survived it, you overcame it. Now you've remembered it, and it's done."
    "Roarke." Looking at him, she knew she had never loved anyone more. Never would. "It's not. I have to face what I've done. The reality of it, and the consequences. I can't marry you now. Tomorrow I have to turn in my badge."
    "What insanity is this?"
    "I killed my father, do you understand? There has to be an investigation. Even if I'm cleared, it doesn't negate the fact that my application for the academy, my records, are fraudulent. As long as the investigation is ongoing, I can't be a cop, and I can't marry you." Steadier, she rose. "I have to pack."
    "Try it."
    His voice was low, dangerous, and it stopped her. "Roarke, I have to follow procedure."
    "No, you have to be human." He strode to the door and slammed it shut. "Do you think you're walking out on me, on your life, because you defended yourself against a monster?"
    "I killed my father."
    "You killed a fucking monster. You were a child. Are you going to stand there, look me in the face, and tell me that child was to blame?"
    She opened her mouth, closed it. "It's not a matter of how I see it, Roarke. The law -- "
    "The law should have protected you!" With visions dancing evilly in his head, he snapped. He could all but hear the tight wire of control break. "Goddamn the law. What good did it do either one of us when we needed it most? You want to chuck your badge because the law's too fucking weak to care for its innocents, for its children, be my guest. Throw your career away. But you're not getting rid of me."
    He started to grab her by the shoulders, then dropped his hands. "I can't touch you." Shaken by the violence that spewed up in him, he stepped back. "I'm afraid to put my hands on you. I couldn't stand it if being with me reminded you of what he did."
    "No." Appalled, it was she who reached out. "No. It doesn't. It couldn't. There's nothing but you and me when you touch me. It's just that I have to handle this."
    "Alone?" It was, he realized, the most bitter of