When Peter made the wish, Sarah looked up, the desperate hope that Jareth would soon be removed foremost in her, removing the danger that was building in this face off. She moved slightly, as she could only see somewhat over Peter's shoulder, and the action lasted long enough for her to see the lightening hit – but not Jareth, no. A crystal. And then Peter was back in front of her entirely before she could see the rest, but the answer to what had happened wasn't far away as he fell back into her. They both went down, Sarah wrapping her free arm around his body tightly as they hit the floor. It was hard to manage with only one hand, but she did, getting him half into her lap until he slid to the floor, unresponsive, like a rag doll. It was then she caught her first unobstructed view of his chest.
"Peter, oh my God, Peter, it's okay, it's okay," she babbled, only peripherally aware she was crying. She reached for his face, staring into open, sightless eyes with a wave of terror that made her earlier fear seem weak in comparison. Peter wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. This wasn't happening.
Her hand slid to his neck, searching and waiting for the beat of his heart, even faintly. Refusing to believe what she found, she moved her fingers to his wrist, pressing far too hard trying to find his heart beat, watching his charred chest for movement, tears blurring everything. She checked his other wrist, both sides of his neck and then the denial she'd been functioning under crashed around her with sickening waves of pain.
"You killed him!" There was no romanticizing of this tone, this was a shriek of pure grief, sharp and hysterical. But even then, Sarah refused to accept what everything was telling her. She had to do something, anything.
C.P.R. She knew that, and even if his heart had stopped, it could be started again if she did that. But suddenly she couldn't remember how to do it, the count pattern that had once seemed so easy suddenly beyond her. Frustration joined the churning mass of emotions she felt, as she didn't have time for this kind of panic, she had to get it together and try something anyhow.
Her free hand hovered over the charred wound on Peter chest, the incredible shaking now not from fear of Jareth but terror and a grief she couldn't fully admit to yet, that Peter was gone and wouldn't be coming back, or she would go to pieces right there. How could she even attempt the chest compressions with his chest like this? She had to do something, she had to get up and call 911, even if there was no way to explain this at all. But her hand was still joined with Peter's, her grip still so tight that she wasn't certain she could unlock it now now, and his feeling just as tight in return, though she told herself that was a combination of her grip and hopeful delusion.
"Get me the damn phone now!" she screamed at Jareth, pointing to the cordless phone on the wall. It didn't matter that a few minutes ago she was terrified of him wishing her away. None of that mattered now. Jareth was going to do what she said and he was going to do it now, or she wouldn't rest until she'd seen him ripped limb from limb.