Christian, Annela sends in his thoughts full of phosphenes. Christian, she repeats, louder. Evandro touches the bodies around the room and comes to the conclusion that they are dead. But not a single scratch is present on their skin. They were willing... he notes, perplexed. 

          "We need to get him to a hospital," Annela declares, fighting to hold back worried tears. 

         "You know we can't do that," he reasonably asserts. "It'd take too long to lie our way in and out without arousing suspicion." 

          "What the hell else do you propose we do?" she coldly asks, her tone rising to hide her brittle voice. 

          A bit more of professionalism, he would have wished to retort, but he wisely decides to keep the comeback, seeing the pain in her eyes. 

          "I know some people who would be able to mend him discreetly, in a less... humanly traditional way," he suggests, after a short time of reflexion. 

          "Let's get going then," she urges, putting one of Christian's desensitized arm around her shoulders to lift him up. She grunts under his weight. 

          "We can't just leave the corpses like this," he reminds. 

          "Fine," she frustratedly concedes, wondering why Evandro doesn't see the Christian as the priority. "Tell me where to find these people, and you can take care of the situation here." 

          He presses his lips until only a fine line is visible, knowing he couldn't change her mind into letting him take care of Christian and her cleaning up the mess and interrogating Tim Bailey. 

          "You'll need to drive down south. They're in Tijuana, right next to the frontier separating the States from Mexico. They own a farm. Ask around for the Ambrósios and people will surely know where to give you directions," he explains. 

          She hastily thanks him and grunts, carrying him on her back to the car. She lays him on the back seats and presses her hand on his forehead. She commands his body to seal the open wounds letting his blood escape. His eyes open and a weak cry comes out his mouth. 

          I'm so sorry, she apologizes, I'm doing this for your own good. 

          He tries to say something but fails, the pain of the broken rib knocking him out of breath. 

          "Shhh," she hushes. "Don't try to speak, I'm going to take care of you."

          I know, he feebly sends, before closing his eyes. 

          "Keep your eyes open Christian," she firmly tells. She sees his dark blue eyes once again and hurriedly goes to sit at the wheel. The car takes off, certainly violating the speed limit. She keeps darting her eyes from the road to the rear-view mirror to check on him. He keeps his eyes on her, as she says. His body desperately demands to shut down, but he keeps struggling, looking at her, to not let his eyes wander off to his hideous injuries. 

          I'm so sorry, she keeps repeating, tears threatening any second to roll down her cheeks. 

          I should have stayed with you. I should have listened to you. I should have, I should have, I should have! She hits the wheel in anger with her hand. Never in her life had she ever hated herself more than this. Her heart physically pained, from her own brain sending self-destructive thoughts. 

          Don't put yourself in this state, he fragilely communicates. Her eyes meet his, injected in blood, for a second in the mirror. She is about to reply something before he continues. 

          Just... he pauses, drained from all energy. Just never leave me. He closes his eyes, as if it would shut the images of Tim Bailey in his mind, sending excruciatingly agonizing orders. 

          Never. She shakes her head vigorously. I vow to protect you, until the day I die.

          His heartbeat shakily quickens, a more rested expression covering his face. The paleness of his skin is harrowing. He closes his eyes despite all his efforts. 

          Christian, she severely sends. Her voice sounds exquisite in his mind. Christian, stay with me. 

          His body is lightly tossed around as she tries her best to maneuver the vehicle smoothly but quickly. On the national highway, she dangerously swerves around the other cars and trucks, earning numerous honking. They are halfway through. 

          Thirty minutes Christian, you gotta hold on, she begs. He doesn't budge, his eyesight starting to blur and his pain starting to decrease. 

          Christian?  She asks, terribly alarmed.

          "Chris!" she hollers out loud. His eyes dart open, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost. I need to do something, she thinks, panic starting to gain the better of her. She enter his mind and feels the sudden pain in her own body. A desperate idea forms in her mind. 

          Christian, I need you to enter my mind, she explains as calmly as possible. He mechanically does so, half conscious. 

          Amazing job, I'm proud of you Christian, now listen to me. I'm going to give you some of my power, and all you need to do is accept it. 

          But w-will you lose y-yours? ... he manages to send. 

          Of course not! she lies. It's very simple. All you have to do is take it. I'm giving it to you. 

          She feels his conscious in hers, and her power getting sucked out, slowly. 

          "You're doing great," she encourages, having trouble communicating mentally. He feels his power increase, and his body tingle pleasantly, regaining a full conscious, the pain is more bearable.  

          She completely loses her powers, a strange sensation of weakness thrown upon her, like a veil. She checks behind her, and smiles a smile she wants reassuring, but he isn't fooled. He sees sadness in her black eyes, for some reason colored with a duller black. 

         Thank you, he sends. He doesn't obtain any reaction from her. 

          "We're almost there", she informs. A few minutes later, they pass the entrance sign of the city. The ride that should have taken two hours only lasted one. She parks her car in front of a small supermarket and looks at Christian on the back seat. 

          "I'm going to ask around for the Ambrósios, I'll be back in a few minutes," she explains to his puzzled eyes. She grabs the black turtle neck Evandro left in the car and slides in, to hide the stains of blood on her shirt. 

          She hastily hops out and apologetically cuts to the front of the line to ask the question to the local shopkeeper. 

          "Why of course, such lovely people, the Ambrósios," the chubby man chuckles. "You just need to continue the road down south straight ahead, and soon you'll cross an old large farmhouse. You can't miss it."

          "Thanks a million," she gratefully smiles, apologizing once again to the people in line, throwing her annoyed glances. 

          She opens her door again and slams it shut. She doesn't bother buckling her seatbelt and makes the engine roar fiercely. 

          Any luck? Christian asks. She doesn't reply, not hearing his thoughts anymore. 

          "Annela?" he physically wheezes. 

         "Yes?" she nicely replies, hope exciting her heart r ate. 

          Can you hear me?  he sends, unable to continue talking. 

          "Just rest," she advises. "No need to talk."

          She can't hear me communicating with her, he concludes, upset. 

          "You... lied..." he heaves, despite a violent pain stabbing his abdomen. 

          "We're almost there," she flatly states, ignoring his correct accusation a tear rolling down her cheek that she promptly wipes away. His dark blue eyes stare at the young woman, his anchor to the living world. She offered him a piece of herself without a question, and he was going to fight his combat against death, for she had given him a reason to.