Divided

chapter SIXTY-THREE

“No!” I screamed. I wished for Vittorio to be alright, wished for Neal to be the one to die. As I wished that with all my being, time seemed to nearly stop. I saw Neal running toward Vittorio, the knife aimed for his heart. I saw him trip, though there was nothing in the way of his foot. He fell, arms flailing. I threw open the door and ran to Vittorio. It seemed to take ages, even though he was only a few feet from me. I watched as his arms reached for me. I didn’t understand what was happening. Was I in shock?

Neal landed and his knife plunged into his own heart. Time resumed its normal pacing. I stared at Neal in horror. “Oh my god, I killed him!”

“Of course you didn’t, mio amore.” Vittorio knelt next to me on the ground, holding me to him, trying to comfort me. I hadn’t realized I had collapsed to my knees next to Neal’s body.

“I did. I killed him,” I sobbed.

“Why do you say that?” Vittorio gently turned me to look at him.

“I saw him coming at you with the knife, and I wished for him to die instead of you.”

“He was moving too fast; you couldn’t have seen him.”

“But I did, and I wished for you to be okay, and for him to die. Then,” I could barely talk through my sobs.

“Calm down, mio amore. Then what?” He stroked my hair, trying to calm me.

“Everything slowed down, like slow motion in a movie. Neal tripped, but there was nothing in his way, and now he’s dead and it’s my fault. I don’t want to be a murderer!” I cried hysterically. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream. I hadn’t just killed Neal with my thoughts. I always knew there was a possibility I would have to shoot someone on the job; some of my investigations were dangerous, and that’s why I carried a gun. But that would be self-defense. This, I had plainly wished for Neal to die. I didn’t want this. I wanted Vittorio safe, yes, but not at the cost of someone else’s life. Not when it was clearly my fault that someone was dead.

“You can change this, mio amore,” Vittorio said, holding me.

“How? I can’t go back in time.”

“But you can bring Neal back to life.”

“I don’t know how.” My stomach clenched; I was going to be sick.

“You did it before. I believe if you simply wish strongly enough for him to be alive, you will succeed. Put your hands on him, hold him if you must, wish for him to live, but you must truly want it with all your being.”

“I do want him to be alive.” If he was alive, it would mean I wasn’t a murderer, indirectly or otherwise.

“Then make it so.”

“But what if I fail?”

He held my face in his hands and looked me in the eyes. “You have to try. Won’t you feel a little better knowing you tried and failed, than if you didn’t try at all?”

I nodded.

“Take him in your arms. Picture him alive, his heart beating. Picture him free of blood and whole. I know you can do this, mio amore.”

The confidence I saw in his face scared me. He believed in me so completely. No one had believed in me like that since I told my mom I was trying out for the lead part in the musical my freshman year.

I moved closer to Neal, then rolled him onto his back and lay my hands on his chest. I did not want to hold him if I didn’t have to. I pictured him alive as Vittorio said, and called upon my power to bring him back, to heal him and make his heart beat again. I wished for him to be alive, wrapped him in healing energy. I tried to believe I could do this. I pushed everything out of my mind other than thoughts of healing Neal.

After a few minutes, Neal twitched. His heart beat softly, chest rising with breath. I did it! He was alive!

Vittorio had the presence of mind to make sure the knife was not within Neal’s reach. I was about to stand when he opened his eyes and looked at me. Fear clenched my gut. What would he do? Did he have strength to harm me? Did he know it was my fault he was almost dead?

“You.” That one word seemed to take much effort. “How?”

I shook my head back and forth. I didn’t know. How could I explain it to Neal? Even if I had known, I wouldn’t have told him. He could read my mind. Let him figure it out on his own.

“But I’m alive. I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t want responsibility for your death.” I slumped against Vittorio.

“You are weaker than I thought. I could be of no concern to you now, and no one would know how, yet still you saved me. I don’t understand.”

“You are too evil to understand,” I said.

Neal looked for his knife.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” Vittorio said, holding the knife.

Neal tried to stand, and stumbled. Emmettt helped Neal into the third row of the Suburban, fishing the keys from his pocket when he passed out. “What now?” Emmettt asked.

“Guess we should call Jerry. He’s going to love this,” I said.

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