Sixteen

How did I know what she wanted? How could I possibly understand the forces that had driven her to such despair? How could I…? How could I…?

The body of Santo lay at her feet, his face in peaceful repose. His arms were crossed over his chest, his one heel tight against the other. I wasn’t sure what had killed him, but I was sure it wasn’t Leela. She was incapable. Her mind simply would not be able to wrap itself around the very concept of killing. So who?

As it turns out, I never did find out. Leela raised her warm brown eyes and stared deep into my own. I felt the pull of her tormented soul, grasping for life as a drowning man clutches the arm from inside the lifeboat. Why wouldn’t my mind send words to my mouth? Why was I frozen in impotent wonder? I wanted…no, needed…to run to her, to clutch her in his saving arms, to make good all that was torqued inside her.

Then she killed me.

Not with any tangible weapon, but with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Just once, but enough to feel her spirit release its grip and slip into the icy cold waters. As she turned and left I knew she had committed herself to the depths, and I could not follow her. I could not…