Run.

The adrenaline pumps through me at a record high. The last time I'd run this fast was when my father nearly dropped one of his work tools on my head -- on accident, of course.

The cobblestones below me pound as I race through the night, the buildings around me a dark blur. There are only three sounds filling my ears right now: my heavy breathing, my pounding heart and his heavily falling footsteps.

"You can't run forever, Melody!" his deep voice rumbles.

I whimper.

How does he know my name? I've never seen this man before. I wish I could say I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, but something in me knew something was going to happen.

I never meant to see that young woman die, though.

I had tried to leave before he saw me, but I'd slipped in a pool of water and drawn his undivided attention. The image of him bent over the tiny frame of the woman is imprinted in my mind.

She looked shockingly familiar.

Her brown curls were splayed around her head like a fan...so familiar.

I can't shake it, and I can't control my shaking hands. I can't take this to the police. He'd catch me before I'd reach the other side of town. My phone was long gone, soaking in that puddle of water I'd slipped in.

They'd have my head and my badge for this. There was no way the chief would consider keeping me on after defying direct orders to not stay out past curfew. The chief only wanted the best of the best out in the field.

He didn't know what I was capable of.

About fifty yards in front of me, I see the glint of a window in an alley. I know this alley; I've used it for years when walking home from school and interning at the police station.

I chance a glance behind me to gauge the man's proximity. He's several cars behind me, probably thanks to my head start.

Somehow, the adrenaline pumping through my body quickens, and I'm able to increase my pace. Just before I take the turn, however, an acute, sharp pain racks through my right shoulder.

"Agh!" I clutch my arm, slightly faltering.

I stumble up some stairs, trying not to look like a wayward drunk. The last thing I want is one of the officers stopping me. They'd send me to the hospital. They'd question me.

The chief would ask why the bloody hell I was walking at night by myself when the whole department was clearly informed earlier this week a mad killer was on the loose.

I couldn't have that.

The truth is, I can't explain my stupidity, but I do know I was drawn to that spot tonight. My instinct told me to take a walk.

Why?

I really don't know, but I've learned to listen to it. Even knowing the chief would lose it if I were out this late, I couldn't ignore the voice in my head urging me to that spot.

"My roommate can help bandage me up," I think fleetingly as I climb the stairs to my apartment, breathing heavily. It takes everything in me not to cry out with each jostle.

I wince as I open the door, but stop dead in my tracks. My roommate is sobbing inconsolably on the floor, hunched over an unconscious figure.

I lock the door behind me and grab the gun I keep under our coffee table, cursing myself for not taking it with me.

"Amy?" I know I sound panicked. She whirls around, her eyes widening. She's speechless, eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Melody," she croaks out. "How? How are you-?" she looks down at the girl in her arms.

I'm still breathing heavily, tears running down my face as I come down from the adrenaline rush. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, wondering who this could possibly be.

This was the last thing I needed right now, but if he tried charging through here, I'd be ready.

"Melody, what the hell is going on?" Amy sounds distraught.

"This man," my breath is more shallow now; I can feel the bullet throbbing in my shoulder. The pain is becoming unbearable. "He killed this woman...and he saw me. Chased me up 14th street and shot me."

I stumble over to her and she catches my fall. "Melody, you were dead."

"Don't be ridiculous, Amy," I mumble. "I'm right here."

I follow her frightened glance and freeze.

Impossible.

It's the woman who I saw shot dead not 20 minutes ago.

Me.

I wake with a jolt.

"Mel, did you have that dream again?" Amy is hovering over me with a bucket of ice cold water. I glare until she sets it down. "Well, you wouldn't wake up."

I wipe my face with my hand. I'm sweating bullets. "This needs to stop."

"It's the fifth night in a row," she replies. "Talk to me."

I look up at my best friend. I'm not sure how to say it without sounding crazy. "It's so vivid." I whisper. "I feel...I feel like it's happening in real time."

"You usually have weird dreams."

"But not this weird. I witnessed a murder, and he tried to kill me. But it was me he killed, Amy." At this point, I'm shaking as I did in my dream. She looks at me in concern. "For four nights, I climbed up here with a bullet wound here, " I point to my right shoulder, painful to the touch. "And I see you crying over someone. Until last night, I couldn't see who it was."

Amy grabs an ice cube from the bucket and pops it in her mouth. "Who was it?"

My throat is suddenly dry. I can't explain why this is sticking to my mind.

"Me."

She pauses, clearly unsure how to respond. I know what she's thinking. "Melody."

I shake my head. "Don't."

She sets the bucket aside and sits next to me. "You need to stop blaming yourself. Decisions, even difficult ones, have to be made in life. You know this. You knew it when you applied for the academy."

"I know."

"And I know you always say there's a choice, but sometimes, there's a choice you need to go with for everyone's safety."

I breathe slowly through my nose, holding it. "He was my partner, Ames. He was counting on me."

"He was counting on you to get the job done, not sacrifice a block full of people for him. You know he never would have forgiven himself or you had you not chosen to stop that maniac from bombing that block full of people. You need to learn to face yourself."

I let out the breath through my mouth as I answer. "I can't even look in the mirror."

"I think your subconscious is ready for you to try. It can be hard to see ourselves for who we are, especially when shown what we're capable of."

"It's terrifying," I whisper, tears silently streaming down my face.

She hugs me. "I know, and I wish I could take that burden for you, but only you can do this."

Decisions.

I hate them with a passion, almost as much as I hate the man who attempted to blow up an entire block in the name of ISIS. Probably not as much as I hate myself. I know my friend is right. I know I made the right decision, but even so, I can't find the peace that's supposed to come with having good morale; that comes with duty.

I shrug her off and walk over to my bathroom. I had pinned a bed sheet over the mirror so I wouldn't see my own reflection.

Maybe it was time to face it.

Ignoring the churning in my stomach, I rip off the sheet.

All I can do is stare.

Standing in front of me is the rawest version of myself I've ever seen. My hair is a tangled mess, my eyes are red and puffy, and my skin is splotched with tears -- but it's me.

I finally see myself.