Snippet #2467150

Everyone sat down and the RV began to move. George sat back in her seat. Her face was pale from blood loss and she frowned in discomfort when jostled but she said nothing as they made the trek back into the city. She was angry but at that moment was too exhausted to show it or do anything about it. Once the wound was tended to then she would take action. For now she just wanted to be still.

Imogen watched George, concerned about the blood loss and the pain but the woman didn’t say anything so the scientist respected her silence. It didn’t mean she couldn’t observe. It also gave Imogen something to do other than relive what happened in the lab.

Beside her Antony was stripping away his armor. When he spoke to her she turned to look at him, confused for a moment. Her eyes drifted over the front of her shirt and her arms. There was blood, some of it George’s but most of it from the people Antony shot in the hallway. There was also pieces of them that were now dried bits stuck to her clothes.

Imogen took a deep breath in through her mouth in an effort to stop the wave of nausea that suddenly struck her. She would not waiver, not now.

“Yes well, I suppose it could not be helped. If you had aimed wider you might have missed.”

Her voice was level but lacked emotion as she remained as calm and detached as she could. The smile on his face sent chills up her spine, though not as much as his question did.

“Enjoy it? I do not think I understand.”

Imogen was not entirely sure she wanted an explanation. Antony seemed to be enjoying the end of the mission though those around him seemed a bit more sombre.
***
Riordan dropped Teagan and Atticus off first. The next stop was Antony’s followed by Imogen’s.

Imogen stood and turned to Mark.

“I hope, perhaps we can still make plans to meet up? I would like to see your work. If the offer is still there please feel free to call on me sometime soon. You know how to reach me.”

She managed a smile though it looked odd with the blood that flecked her pale cheeks and seemed to dot itself up and into her hair.

Imogen placed a hand on George’s good shoulder as she passed her. “If you need anything please let me know. I will start going through the files as soon as I can.”

George managed a nod. “Rest Imogen. There is no rush. Take a few days downtime to recoup. It has been a rough day.”

Imogen dipped her head in understanding and left the RV.

The vehicle pulled away. It’s next stop was Mark’s residence.
***
Imogen’s entered her apartment, locking the door behind her. She dropped her bag and immediately went into her bathroom. First she emptied her stomach of everything then she stripped, tossing her clothes into the garbage before finally showering.

She scrubbed her body clean. When she had undressed there had been places where the clothes had stuck to her, the blood having seeped through and to the skin. If she focused on it for too long, the actions that led to the blood being there her stomach threatened to rebel so instead she shifted her mind to chemical formulas, DNA coding strands, anything that was not the sound of guns or visions of bodies hitting the floor at her feet.

Hair still damp, wrapped in a silk robe Imogen went into her kitchen. There she poured herself a glass of scotch. Not wine, this called for something far stronger. Something that would help her sleep as she feared it might not come easily.

Her eyes drifted to where her bag rested on the floor. It too had blood and bits stuck to it, it too would find its way into an incinerator. I should get to work on....no, not right now.

She took a deep drink from her glass, the liquid burning as it went down. The apartment felt entirely too quiet. Normally she liked it this way but for the first time in a long time Imogen felt completely alone and it frightened her.

Mathieu, right now I am angry that you are not here. I am angry that I am alone...

Tears stung her eyes and she downed the rest of her glass. She immediately poured a second.

She retrieved her phone. Imogen took another drink, the alcohol warming her empty stomach. I have no one to call. She prided herself on the life she had built in the aftermath of Mathieu’s death and her attack. She never minded being alone and independent until now.

Imogen closed her eyes and downed a good portion of her second scotch. Her cheeks grew warm. She sat on the couch, phone in hand.