Angie stared at me as if I were a freak as I poured the gunpowder onto my arm and lit the match. I am nurse. I can help you. No one can help me. The pain as the gunpowder ignited was so intense it made me see blue spots.
No. Those were eyes. Nikita’s eyes. If… you are who I think you are… then, I do this for you. And… for me…
The soup was hot, and it tasted unexpectedly good. I could not remember the last time I ate.
I am alive. I would have died, if not for Angie. She would have lived, if not for me.
I am alive. I have Adam. We are as safe as I can make us. The past is done, and the scars on my arm and shoulder are only two more in the portfolio of pain that Section inflicted on me.
I am alive. Angie is dead. I am selfishly, guiltily grateful that I survived. I have another life depending on me – Angie had no one to mourn her death except me. As I lie here in the darkness, reliving every death, I realize that of all the people I have encountered in my life at Section apart from Nikita, Angie was the most real. She had no unwritten agenda or ulterior motive.
I am alive, and Angie is dead. There are times when I think that of the two of us, she benefited far more than I did. Her instincts were true. She would have made a good operative. I am glad she died fighting. I only wish she had not died fighting for me.