Breathing in a few big gulps of air, she can feel her heartbeat start to drop back down to something that feels much less like impending cardiac arrest. It's another long minute before she's sure she can talk without sounding like a 90-year old climbing 10 flights of stairs.

"I'm not even going to ask you what that was back there," she says finally. Pleased at how normal she sounds. "At this point I don't even want to know and I probably wouldn't understand if you told me."

She holds up a hand to stop him from saying anything while she considers his face. His clothes. The way he looked firing that gun. And she doesn't think before she asks, "How many people have you killed?"