"Can't you hear that, Sam?" Al said, moving to intercept his friend's gaze. "Can't you hear what she's saying?"

"She wants me to put the gun down." A whimper. Pathetic. Broken. "She doesn't want me to shoot him."

Al shook his head slowly. "She doesn't want to shoot you." He leaned aside, twisting to look at the terrified cop.

Sam, only Sam, finally looked too. She was flushed, shaking, begging with her eyes.

Why is she..?

It clicked.

Oh, no...

"Harry," she whispered, her forehead breaking, just starting to cry. "Please don't let me do this."

She loves me.

"Please..."

Sam looked down at the bleeding man in his lap, then shoved him away roughly, throwing the gun into the far wall as hard as he could. The sound of the report was loud, but only a sound, and Sam took to his hands and knees, feeling his head start to spin again as he crawled blindly, not stopping until he was imbedded in Diane's arms. She rocked him senseless, whispering nothings and squeezing the breath from him. It was better than death.

It was heaven.