Author's Notes- we got to the last one! I hope you enjoyed the story. I know some people will think this development at the end is too convenient for the story, and impossible, and nonsense, and...bla, bla, bla... It is not, it called Christian Metaphysiscs. Curious? Start by reading the "Kybalion" (sorry, it's not a Fanfic!)

The last bit is dedicated to PAMZ, a fervent lover of scars, because according to her, "scars are cool, not hideous" ;) (I never shared that belief myself)

Please, review. If you enjoyed the story, you can carry on with the ultra-long Part 3. Thanks.

Chapter 21 – The Power of Love

Sometime after four in the afternoon Cristina could not take it any longer, so with difficulty she got out of bed and started to get dressed.

"Cristina, what are you doing? The doctor said you should stay in bed," Doña María Luisa said.

"I know, but I can't stay here doing nothing any minute longer. I have to see him, while he is still alive," she said, putting her dress on slowly, suffering with every move. "We will take the carriage. Please tell Joaquin to get it ready for us."

"But you are very sick! You can't go anywhere."

"Yes, I am very sick, but I am not dying like he is. If you don't get the carriage ready I will ride on Perseo, without a saddle." Her mother knew her well enough to know there was no way she could stop her, so she went to tell the servant to get the carriage ready.

ZZZ

Padre Benítez had finished administering the last rites to Diego. They were all waiting for any signs of change, for better or for worse, before they could decide to move him.

"If the haemorrhage was going to stop with the pressure it should have stopped by now; it has been more than four hours," doctor Hernández said.

They helped Alfonso up, who was very glad to be allowed to move. He could not stand up, because his legs were completely numbed and could not feel them at all, so he lay on the ground while Mendoza and Felipe held his legs up, shaking them to restore the circulation. While he recovered, Doctor Hernández checked Diego's vital signs yet again, and shook his head.

"He is very weak, but his heart is still going, faintly. I don't think it will be long now before he passes away. I'm sorry."

Don Alejandro started crying again, supported by Don Francisco. When the doctor lifted his head, he spotted an open carriage that was approaching the field, behind the others.

"Look."

"Oh, no. That's Cristina. I was wondering when she would come. I knew she would not be able to stay at home, even if she is so sick herself," Don Francisco said. He left his crying friend in Mendoza's care to walk slowly to the carriage to greet his daughter.

"How is he?" Cristina asked the moment the carriage stopped beside her father.

"He is still alive, but he is very weak," Don Francisco said, helping her to climb down the carriage. He hugged his daughter, stoically holding back the tears again. "I am so sorry, Cristina."

"I know," she said, hugging her father briefly. "But let me go with him."

She walked slowly the short distance to the spot where Diego was lying, trying to ignore her own pain. The men standing around him moved away to let her near her husband.

"How is he?" she asked the doctor. "Tell me the truth. Don't lie to me."

"He was shot in the liver. He has lost a lot of blood and he is very weak. I am sorry, Cristina, there is nothing else I can do. I think he is dying," the doctor said, as honest as he could be.

"He can't die. He is not dying. I won't let him!" she said, stubborn, with a weird tone of voice which suggested a hint of madness. They looked at her thinking she had lost her mind with the shock.

"What do you mean, you won't let him?" Don Francisco said. "I am sorry, dear, but that is not up to you. It's up to God now."

"Cristina, my child…" intervened the priest.

"Don't child me Padre, not now. Leave me alone with him for a few minutes before you move him. Go away, all of you," she demanded, but they didn't move.

"Back off!" she screamed.

Puzzled, they looked at her as if she was possessed, but they still didn't move due to the surprise caused by her reaction. Don Francisco came closer to comfort her, but, before he could touch her, she shouted again.

"Are you all deaf? Go away! NOW!"

Doctor Hernández urged them to move away from the couple a safe distance, worried she could have a coughing fit with all that unnecessary stress.

"She is right. Let's give them some space, come on. She wants to talk to him, alone." He thought that maybe she wanted to say something the others were not supposed to hear, something about Zorro.

With difficulty, she knelt down beside him and kissed his dry, pale lips.

"Diego, you can't die, do you hear me?" she whispered. "I am here now, and I won't let you die. I need you. I love you," she said vehemently, holding his right hand between hers.

She wasn't mad. She had a reason for her seemingly erratic behaviour. While studying on Italy she had come in contact with an underground group of students who introduced her to the Hermetic Principle of Mentalism. She was convinced that as long as she won't give up on him, with the help of positive thinking, he would not die. That's why she had to move the negative energy of the others away from him, because they already thought his death was inevitable. Despite them being Catholics, she knew they would not believe the Truth they had just been told on the Gospel words. Not really, not as she did. Not with that kind of Faith.

"You are not ready to leave this world, Diego. Your mission in this life has not been accomplished yet. People need you. I need you. You can recover from this, it is not the end. Even if the others have given up on you, I won't."

She placed her hands on his chest and closed her eyes, letting her intense energy, feelings and love flow down to him.

"No, thank you, Death, I don't need you. I know the Truth. He can't die before his time. That is God's will. Thank you God, because you have already listened."

She stayed in that position for a couple of minutes, not thinking, just feeling. Then she kissed him again and stood up slowly, holding her ribs. She looked behind towards the group of men who were staring at her, and gestured them to come back. Her mother was still in the carriage, crying.

"He is ready to go back home now. Please, place him in the cart," she ordered.

The men looked at the doctor, who nodded, shrugging his shoulders. It would not make any difference: he was going to die, either on the ground, on transit, or shortly after reaching the hacienda. It didn't matter anymore. Felipe and Alfonso placed the board in the ground beside Diego. With Mendoza's help they moved him carefully onto the board.

Then it happened.

Diego opened his eyes and whispered: "Cristina".

Sergeant Mendoza and the priest made the sign of the cross on themselves.

"Madre de Dios! It's a miracle!" Mendoza said.

Doctor Hernández checked Diego's heart rate and pulse and shook his head, smiling in awe.

"I can't believe it! He is back! It really is a miracle!"

They all cheered, amazed, while Cristina looked at them with a smug expression. I told you. I am a true believer, not like you.

"Diego, son, are you all right?" asked his father, stroking his hair again, caressing his forehead.

Diego tried to talk, but his mouth was too dry. Felipe held one of the botijos up, pouring fresh water into his mouth slowly, giving him time to drink it. Mendoza and the soldiers lifted the board up and carried Diego to the cart, where Cristina was already waiting for him. She sat down beside him and held his hand, smiling.

"Cristina…" he said again, pressing on her hand.

"Yes, I am here, mi amor."

"I heard you."

"I knew you would," she said, kissing him again. "Let's go home. You'll be all right."

ZZZ

"Diego, how many new scars have you got since I know you?" Cristina asked.

She was lying in bed with him, trying to count them while caressing his skin with her index finger. A few weeks had passed since the duel and, against the odds, Diego had recovered quite well. Even the wound in his arm had healed quite nicely, and Cristina's ribs were also mended.

"Only a few."

"If you get any more, you are going to look like Rosana's chopping board."

Diego chuckled, picturing in his mind the way the new cook handled the knife. She was brutal, and everybody feared she would cut her own finger off one day while chopping carrots. But Cristina was right, in the last five months he had certainly been maimed all over.

"I've been told scars are… what did she say? Cool, that's what she said."

"Cool? What does it mean? And who is she, and how does she know about your scars?"

"I think she meant sensual. She likes them."

"What? Scars? How can anybody like them? They are hideous," she moaned. "No, I mean… not yours… yours are not hideous, they are…nice," she said, too late, kissing the first one she could lay her eyes on, the more recent one, the gunshot in his abdomen. He laughed, hugging her.

"Still waiting to know who she is," she said, cosy in his arms. "Victoria, maybe?"

"I am not going to tell you," he teased, amused, with his mischievous smile.

"Yes, you are!" she said, slapping his chest.

"All right, all right. No need to become violent. My friend Pamela told me that a long time ago. She had a few scars on her body. I think she was trying to convince herself that she was happy with them, telling me the scars reminded her of important events in her life."

"To be honest, I don't want to be reminded of these events here, ever."

"Neither do I. But, hey, on the other hand… I'm cool." His cheeky smile was irresistible.

"Yes, you are. Whatever," she agreed, although that choice of a word sounded ridiculous. Cool. That would never become popular.

She kissed him and they soon were all over each other, willing to conceive a grandchild for Don Alejandro.

But, unknown to them, they had done that already.

ZZZZZZZZZZ

End of PART 2