I can't help this awful energy

God damn right, you should be scared of me

Who is in control?

I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head

They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead

Control, Halsey

Z

What happened next passed in an absolute blur like I was watching it happen on fast forward. I had been taken to the hospital where doctors and nurses shined flashlights in my eyes what felt like hundreds of times and kept sending me for brain scans. The second I arrived, they stole my clothes and photographed all of my bruises and left me in a flimsy little hospital gown.

I was expecting Brian to visit me, but instead, my only visitors in my hospital room were FBI higher-ups who outranked even Penning. They asked me hundreds of questions on camera about the shooting and the investigation. At some point, a polished looking woman from the LA FBI office I vaguely remembered seeing in the elevator showed up and acted as my counsel. I hadn't realized I would need a lawyer for this.

I couldn't remember what month it was, or the day of the week, so questioning was difficult. I definitely didn't remember most of what happened in the wine cellar. Embarrassingly enough, I couldn't remember out victim's name. I had felt a rush of shame come over me when I tried to rummage through the back of my brain and find it. She was the reason we had wanted to take this bastard down; she should have been the thing I remembered most.

It must have been three in the morning when they finally finished their questions. They turned off the camera and the older agent stepped out to take a phone call. I was trying to work up the nerve to ask them all to leave when he came back into the room with Penning at his heels.

"It's a good shooting, Beck." He said without preamble as he sat on the plastic hospital chair and pulled my rolling table over to himself.

He flipped open his copy of the homicide file and spread out its contents. I didn't remember it being that thick, but I also didn't remember much of anything else at the moment.

"Our forensics team tore the place apart. They've found blood evidence and evidence of a bullet going down into the floor in the cellar and they've found carpet that was recently pulled up from an office that matches the carpet fiber found on the body. O'Conner's intel on Ross's close relationship with police investigators has led to multiple arrests for obstruction. We've also arrested some of the employees for helping him hide the body. His wife and the housekeeper both gave him up." He stopped flipping through the forensics reports and fixed me in a hard stare. "What happened, Beck?"

"I don't really know. I decided I was going to hang out in the den to see if anything was going on while Brian—um, O'Conner went upstairs to shower before dinner. He approached me and I don't remember what we talked about, but he mentioned a wine cellar. The door was tucked in a corner. I knew it hadn't been searched. He opened the door for me, and I told him to go first because I had heels on, and the stairs were steep. I don't even remember stepping in further than the door. I don't think I was actually planning on going downstairs with him; I just wanted to glance at it and then go back and look later."

I stopped because the memories got really fuzzy after that point. I didn't remember anything at all after stepping into the doorway of that cellar.

"I don't know how I got on the floor, but I blinked, and I was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. I don't remember him touching me, I don't remember falling, everything just hurt." Penning's mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. "I remember he had a rope in his hands. I remember hearing yelling and footsteps and I remember thinking that he wasn't going to let me be found."

Was I afraid in that moment? I was scared now.

"How many shots did you fire?" The younger higher up FBI man asked. He'd asked this question multiple times before. I had asked his name at least four times and I knew I couldn't do it again, but I couldn't remember it to save my life.

"Wine bottles broke, so I missed at least once." Frustration rose and I shook my head. "I think it was at least three, but I don't know."

"It was three." He wrote something on his notepad.

"Am I being fired?" I asked him. He sighed deeply.

"No." His answer was short and annoyed.

"Administrative leave. Paid leave." The woman patted my hand.

She was beautiful like a model and probably ten years older than me. I was guessing the gesture was supposed to be motherly, but there was nothing motherly about her and it pissed me off.

"Like a broken record, Penning." The man muttered, looking sideways at my boss. "I haven't seen this much short-term memory loss since my kid made me watch Nemo."

"You can't come back to work until you've been medically cleared and attended mandatory therapy." Penning told me firmly.

The man tore a page out of his notebook and slid it to me. It contained a list of questions and answers. Apparently I had been a broken record throughout our conversation. I didn't remember asking any of these questions, but it was all stuff I wanted to know. I looked quizzically at the woman.

"It's okay. You've hit your head. It'll get better soon." She smiled at me with perfectly painted lips. Whose lipstick looked that good at three in the morning? I glanced at Penning.

"Get well soon, Beck. We got him."

Z

Going home wasn't better.

I was in a fog. When I was asleep, I was dreaming of the feeling of blood pooling in the hollows of my clavicle, soaking every inch of my shirt, and feeling that oppressive weight on my upper body. When I was awake, I was panicking because of the black holes in my memory and the fact that I killed somebody.

I wasn't dealing at all.

That's not what I told the therapist though. Or Brian and Lisa. Or Penning when he called to offer me case updates.

I didn't need those updates; I had become obsessed with stalking the news stories for any new information.

The news broke with a sympathetic slant towards Ross, which made me feel a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach I couldn't find the words for later that day at my appointment. It got heavier with every picture shown of the ex-college linebacker posing with his golden retriever. There was vitriol against the police shooting. He was going to run for Congress like his dad. He was planning on adopting children with his wife. He volunteered with old people. I vomited more than once watching the news stories and reading the hateful comments being left.

Soon, the forensic evidence came back definitively naming him as the murderer and the tone turned towards disbelief. Then the media descended on him like rabid wolves. Mrs. Ross was releasing statements talking about what it was like to finally be free from the abuse. Hayley Daniel's children were talking to reporters about what it meant to finally have closure. She got her day in the light. This was a victory, so why couldn't I stop the nausea clawing at my stomach?

I didn't go out anymore. I sat on my couch turning over the keys to my new Maverick over in my hands, but I couldn't find the energy to get out and go for a drive. Brian couldn't even entice me out with promises of making it faster. He and Lisa still visited, and I was grateful, but I could feel the pity rolling off of both of them.

Lisa had cried when I opened the door in a tank top and my bruises from every stair I knocked on the way down were on full display. She went into full mom mode trying to fuss over every little injury. She kept telling me she was afraid for me and I was scaring her with the detached way I seemed to be handling it. I had laughed, assured her I was fine and sent her home with a fake smile.

Brian kept offering apology after apology for not getting there faster, for not letting me know we were compromised faster, for not doing enough. I vaguely remembered him holding me on the cellar floor while I was as limp as a dishrag muttering the same apologies. He had yet to answer what he could have done differently, and I got tired of watching him blame himself.

I didn't need them there, because I was doing that all myself. I was crying every time I looked at the purple and black splotches when I got out of the shower. I cried especially hard them I found one shaped like a handprint where he apparently grabbed me on my upper arm. The FBI told me they thought that was how he threw me down the stairs onto my head. There was one on my neck I did not remember and could not explain that sent me into a full panic attack; I almost died. He was going to kill me.

Brian couldn't have done anything else. He tried to warn me. He tried to find me. There was one way out of it, and it involved me shooting Bennett Ross. I'd never taken a life before, and I never wanted to do it again. I never wanted to feel like this again.

I felt trapped. My head was underwater, and I was drowning, and I was having to smile for everyone else. I'd been here before. I'd felt this helpless once and I swore I'd never let myself feel it again. I hadn't; I hadn't felt like this since I was a child thrown in foster care after my parents' murder. I never let things get out of control. I swore I'd never feel like this again. I swore I'd never be this helpless.

For the third time that morning, I burst into tears; choking, uncontrollable sobs that hurt.

I had to get out. I had to get out of this apartment. The walls were closing in on me and I couldn't take my own thoughts anymore. I snatched the keys out the bowl on the kitchen counter and grabbed my purse. I made it to the door when I finally stopped to think.

The beach wasn't far enough. I couldn't get away from this if I was an hour from home.

I forced myself to breathe. I knew what I had to do.

Z

"So, I for sure have paid leave for the next two months?" I asked Penning over the phone as I leaned into the huge window.

"Yes." He sounded impatient.

"Perfect." I tried to sound bright, but it came out flat. I didn't care.

"What is this about?" His impatience morphed into suspicion.

"I got a good deal on a vacation and I took it." I blurted. There was no point in beating around the bush. Penning was astute. He knew my leave was going badly. I might be on desk duty for a year for my inability to handle my feelings, but I didn't care.

"Good for you." He finally said after a pregnant pause. I breathed my first sigh of relief in a month.

They called my flight over the airport intercom and the people sitting in the terminal started standing to board.

"Thank you, sir. See you when I get back." I hung up before he could ask when that was because I sure as shit didn't know.

Z

Sayulita, Mexico.

I'd never heard of it before I bought my one-way plane ticket. I wasn't sure what was waiting for me, but to be honest, I didn't care.

I felt like I had grabbed the steering wheel and wrestled control away from my demons.

I needed this.

I needed the summer heat that made my sundress stick to my sweaty back. I needed the smell and sound of the huge waves crashing onto the shore dotted with surfers. I needed the mojito that I sipped while I watched the sunset from the terrace of the bustling local restaurant with authentic food. I needed the colors and the life of this little town. I needed out of stuffy suits, and cold offices, and judging good ol' boy coworkers that were waiting for me to fail.

Most of all, I needed out of my own head.

The hanging lights of the bar terrace switched on above my head as the last rays of the hidden sun disappeared from the sky replaced with a dark carpet of stars. Laughter floated over from the tables of people still eating. The band was warming up to start their set.

I finally tore my eyes away from the ocean. I leaned back on the railing and turned to people watch. Everyone looked so happy here.

I was crazy for doing this; for traveling here alone and with no warning or planning. I'd shoved three changes of clothes in a carry-on, picked up my passport, and left. Watching the people around me, though, I felt free; really and truly free.

AN: I tried to write in her first glance of the team, but it felt super wrong, so I pulled cut it all out. Next chapter.

Also one of these days I'm going to not write this story wine drunk at 4 AM and just post the first draft. There are a few places in the previous chapters I really want to flesh out and write more of. Are there any parts you want more of or that you didn't like?