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Too fast, too much.
The pieces just wouldn't fit together. He could clearly remember what he had seen, what he had heard and what he had felt, but it would not fit together into a continuous mental movie. As if the impressions were from three different events, But they weren't. It had all happened at once. It had happened too fast, too fast to understand.
Nick was sitting on the ground, unaware of what was going on around him, as he tried to understand what had just happened. He could not say how long ago, was it seconds, minutes or hours?
He remembered. Being scared, very scared, being afraid for his life and the lives of his co-workers. But when he tried to picture the events, it felts distant as if he had not really been there. A rational part of his mind told him that this was due to shock and that it would pass. But it still scared him, made him feel like he was going to lose his mind. He was trapped, trapped between construction a mental image that he could process and between reacting to the outside world, There was something important, things he had to know. But what, it was all so confusing. Too much. The images, and sounds kept flashing in his mind. Why would it not stop? Too much.
Someone was taking something from his hand, he let go without resisting, not bothering to look up. Then someone, maybe the same someone, was pulling on his arm, wanting him to get. Why would they not leave him alone? Something important, he should do something, but what. He followed to upward tuck and reluctantly got to his feet, only to lose his balance immediately, painfully reconnecting with the hardwood floor. He wanted no more of it.
~~~~
Brass was not having much more luck with reality than Nick. Pain from his arm hindered all his efforts of focussing on the world and its pressing demands. All seemed to pass in slow motion. For some reasons it was funny, but his brain was telling him that there was nothing funny about the situation.
From his position of lying behind the couch, all he could see was bodiless feet moving around, blood on the floorboards. Oh crap, there it was. It wasn't supposed to have been like that. Where were Nick and Catherine? He wanted to get up, to get a view of the room. His right hand instinctively went for his gun, or that was he had planned. Jarring pain was all he got, nothing moved. Oh, carp. He craned his head to get a view of the damage. The jacket was ruined, a whole in it, blood drenching the fabric. It didn't look like it was his arm. That was weird. Somehow he had the feeling that his brain was not really up to speed. This assessment was confirmed when he was suddenly moved by hands he had not noticed before. His view of the floorboards changed to a view of the ceiling which seamlessly morphed into the unsteady, blurred picture of an uniformed police officer.
"Detective Brass, can you tell me what happened?" The voice was young.
"She had a gun." Brass said the first thing that came to mind, he himself not sure why.
"Mrs. Jansen", he added to clarify.
~~~~
Catherine was far from the troubles of Nick and Brass. She was far away in the vast plains of oblivion, where no memory or feeling existed.