Gotta Love

Change of Heart

Alethea's POV

"Oh my god Michael!" I exclaim as Michael bashes Agent Hudson across the back of the head with a lamp.

"Thea, he was going to ruin us!" Michael defends, catching his crumpling body. Hudsons long brown hair falls away from his face as he slumps backwards against Michael. He clutched Michael under his arms, then drops him except for one arm which he holds tightly.

"What are you going to do with him?" I gasp.

"Kill him I guess."Michael grunts, grabbing my arm tightly around the wrist. His hand is large, and covers a lot of my forearm with a grip like iron. He yanks on me and I stumble forward as he hauls me and drags Agent Hudson towards the stairs leading to the cellar.

"Michael please no, don't do this!" I cry out as I try to pry his vise-like grip from my arm.

"I don't have any choice Thea." He snaps. I stumble as he yanks me down the stone steps. I know screaming is pointless, so I don't even bother. But I continue to struggle as he leads me past the boiler room and into the bomb shelter in the storage room. I beat against his arm with my free fist, occasionally kicking him, twisting and fighting to get free. I kick the back of his knee in an attempt to make his balance buckle. Instead mine buckles, and I lose my footing. But he keeps dragging me, despite the fact that I'm no longer on my feet. He opens the doors and shoves me inside. I fall on my face and catch myself on the cold cement with my hands. He tosses Agent Hudson in after me. I get up, running towards the door.

"No!" I yell and slam my hands on the wooden doors just as he slams them shut. I beat on them as I hear him lock the thick padlock that's supposed to be on this side of the door, but he engineered it just nicely for me. I continue to slam on them even afterwards, though I know it's futile. I stop when I notice my hands are turning bloody.

Instead I turn around and grope way way in the dark, looking for the lightbulb. Finally I find it and pull the string, turning it on. A dim light flickers on and when I pull away, the lightbulb swings rhythmically. A mattress is shoved in the corner of the shelter, and lots of cans of food.

A lot of houses in Utah have bomb shelters. We have an Air Force Base that carries Nuclear Bombs, and it's a primary target for a lot of terrorist groups. None of us have ever had to use our shelters, but it's better safe than sorry.

I grab Agent Hudson and drag him by his arms with difficulty, putting him on the mattress. I feel the back of his head. A considerable sized lump has already formed. I bend over him, slapping him gently on the face. He doesn't react. I slap him a little harder.

"Come on, wake up!" I say urgently. I shake his shoulders. He remains limp. Oh my god! He probably has a gun! I turn him over a bit. He does have a gun! I pull it out of the halter and check it.

What is this? I find myself holding 5 plastic shells filled with rock salt instead of bullets. What kind of gun is this? I can't shoot someone with this!

What kind of FBI agent are you? I eye Hudson.

I get up and bang on the doors of the shelter (or more like cell) again. This isn't the first time I've been locked in here. Michael would sometimes leave me in here for hours, one time even an entire day, whenever he got mad.

I can just picture him now, getting his gun or preparing or something, to kill Agent Hudson. God Michael was so stupid. There's no way he's going to get away with murder. He is going to get locked away forever.

I can't believe he's going to do something like this, I mean, sure, he's hurt me a little bit every now and then, but he's no killer. Right? I turn around and look at Agent Hudson. He almost looked like he could be asleep.

This is all my fault. This man was going to die because I screwed up again. If I hadn't broken that beer bottle, he never would've been hurting me, and Hudson wouldn't have walked in, stupidly trying to play hero. Well... Maybe not stupidly, it was his job after all. Guilt crushes me as I sit down by him. This man is going to die because of me and I don't even know his first name. He could have a wife, children. A family. A brother or a sister. They would certainly miss him.

This man didn't even know me, yet he didn't hesitate to step in when I was being hurt. He's a hero, and now he was going to die because of it.

I sit in solemn silence, looking at him. He was probably in his late twenties. Suddenly I can't fight back tears any longer. Everything has been building up over such a long period of time, I keep pushing it away, letting it snowball into one colossal pile of pain, guilt, and anguish. I can't hold it back any more. It starts with a single tear falling down my cheek. The burning in my throat.

The next thing I know I'm sobbing. This is not how my life was supposed to be. Once I got out of the system, I was supposed to be free. Free from torment, abuse, oppression. To live a normal life full of screaming children and a busy job and a day jam packed with meetings and driving kids to piano lessons and soccer practice. Not this. Anything but this.

I stop, holding back my sobs. I must be strong. I look down at Agent Hudson, determination swelling in my chest.

I will not let him die.