Of course they'd fall on the hard cement of a dark alley on different cold winter nights. The angels would have it no other way. They have a passion for theatrics, those angels.

I should probably introduce you to those funny little statues. They're lethal, but not in the sinister way you'd expect aliens to be. No, the angels were kinder in their killings. They'd send their victims back in time, feed on that energy, and let them die of old age, or a car crash, cancer, it doesn't matter. Sometimes they'd go back in time a decade, sometimes a century. I've studied one case where a poor soul was sent back to the dawn of time. The angels must have been very hungry.

I do hope you'll read up more on these curious creatures. This story isn't about these aliens, though they are very interesting. No, this story is about two victims. They're story is subjectively unimportant, however, if you knew the circumstances by which they became victims, you'll wish you knew more. I know I do.

You may be asking yourself who I am. Well, dear readers, I'm just a narrator. I'm an anonymous observer.

Now, enjoy the story of Mr. and Mrs. Williams.

"Rory!" Amy shouted. She dusted herself off as best she could. Her husband was no where to be seen. The Doctor had told her they might not end up in the same place. She had been relying on the kindness of the angel in the graveyard. The alien could have sent her to another world, to a completely different time.

"Rory!" she cried again, more desperate this time.

It was cold. She had landed in a wet alley way. He clothes clung to her body as she shook violently. She called his name over and over again. After an hour it became clear she'd have to find shelter. Hard, piercing rain had begun to fall. Amy pulled out a red tube. Her trembling hand wrote her husband's name on the side of a dumpster.

She walked out of the alley, violently shaking. She had no place to go. Hell, she didn't even know where she was. She reached the entrance of the street. To her right was a neighborhood, the left a city. Perhaps she could flag down a police man there. She turned, walking towards the lights.

It took a long time to find a police station. She asked around, getting different answers every time. Amy was used to the universe's wiles. She just wished it hadn't decided to be a bitch then.

She missed Rory. She had just seen him. But how many years ago had that been? Amy sought out some inclination of the date, her location, and most importantly, her husband.

Upon reaching the police station, she noticed a news stand out front by the entrance. She ran to it, only to find it empty. She sighed and tried for the door. It was locked. She commented sarcastically about just how wonderful all this was. She silently wondered what kind of police station was closed at night, especially in such a shady city as this one appeared to be.

Desperately she banged on the glass doors and as a rain hit her back. "Please open this door!" she shouted, hoping someone would hear her. "Please!" She turned around and sat on the station's porch. Her sobs mingled with the rain as they ran down her face.

She was an emotional wreck at this point in the day. She'd left her daughter, her best friend, everyone from home, and for what? She couldn't even find the man she'd gone searching for. All hope had drained from her. She was overwhelmingly tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up with Rory in their bed on the ship she already missed.

Headlights gleamed as they passed her. They reflected off the standing water. She had begun to ignore them and didn't even notice when a police car pulled in. His calls pulled her from the vacant stare she had lapsed into. "Miss!" he called. She had no idea how many times he's said that. Finally she looked up, then jumped to her feet. "Miss, can I help you?" he asked.

Light had returned t her eyes as she had found a new hope. "Sir, have you head any of a Rory Williams? He's my husband. We... we immigrated. We came from Europe but got separated." Amy marveled at how easily the lie had come out. It hadn't occurred to her until them how many times she'd lied about her identity while traveling with the Doctor.

The police officer waved for her to follow him. He unlocked the door to the station. "We're short tonight, what with it being the holidays and all. I had to leave the station to respond to a call. I apologize, ma'am." He opened the door for her, she nodded in gratitude.

He walked to a counter where a book sat. "That was "Rory Williams", you said?" He flipped through his book, not bothering for an answer. Amy sat down as he searched the pages.

She was surprised to see a newspaper to her left. Printed right there on the front page of the New York Times was the date. It was December 24, 1922. Christmas Eve. They hadn't moved in space, just in time.

The officer spoke up, removing her eyes from the paper. "Rory Williams, 6 foot tall, English-man?" He looked at Amy, eyebrows up.

"Yes! Yes that's him." He lead to her feet. "Where is he?"

He waited a moment before answering. "He came in two weeks ago. I'll have to call someone about this." He dialed a number and spoke to someone on the other side for a couple of minutes. "He's in a homeless shelter on 41st. What you'll want to do is take a left-"

"Oh no, Mr. Police Man," Amy interrupted, "You'll take me there. I've search all over this city looking for my husband and you will not send me back out in the rain to get lost again." Her attitude had returned with the hope of finding her Rory.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to her. He had a slight smile, but at the same time he appeared to be annoyed. He locked the door to the station as soon as they were both outside. They both climbed into his car and he turned the key to start. The vehicle jumped into motion and they set off.

She was definitely in New York, she decided. Everything was familiar to some extent. Finally he stopped, just as the rain began to pick up again. "Here you go."

Amy thanked him profusely before closing the car door. She ran to the entrance and up to the front desk. A weary old woman sat there, reading a newspaper. "Rory Williams," Amy questioned, clutching the table top, "Is there a Rory Williams here?"

The woman looked up, eyebrows knitted in confusion. "R-O-R-Y?" Amy nodded eagerly. The woman flipped through her own book. "He checked out of the shelter two days ago."

Amy's face went white. "Do you know where I can find him?" she asked, her teeth gritted.

The woman shook her head. "People come in and leave every day. We can't keep tabs on all of them."

Amy put her head on the desk. She sighed heavily. "Can I stay here for tonight?"

"Name?"

"Amelia Pond."