Summary: Mary Alice had a much larger role in the lives of her former neighbors than she thought, and someone (or something) has sent her back to tie up loose ends.

Spoilers: all of the first 3 seasons are fair game, though some events from season 3 will be affected and altered by the actions in this story.

Rated M for language and adult situations, nothing too graphic.

ANGELA'S DEAL

Back To Earth

Oh Bree, thought Mary Alice. How do you stay so naive?

She was watching over Bree as she left the morgue with Orson, still in their wedding attire. Orson turned and whispered something in French, but Mary Alice already knew he'd just lied to Bree about the dead body.

She always liked to think that she would have handled things better if she were still on earth, but if hindsight was 20/20, foresight was an unfair advantage.

"You can't really see the future, you know." came a voice from the ether. The image of Bree disappeared, and Mary Alice was surrounded by white. It was so bright that she had to close her eyes, which confused her since she thought she had no eyes to close.

"What's the matter, Angela? Afraid you'll lose your sight?"

She didn't recognize the voice, and it seemed to come from everywhere at once. For the first time since her death, Mary Alice felt a confusion bordering on fear. Someone was invading her special little place in the sky.

"It's all right," said the voice, and suddenly it was right in front of her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm dead. You can't hurt me."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

Mary Alice opened her eyes slowly. The man in front of her looked average enough. He looked familiar, but then again his face kept changing. Every time she thought she had it, he would look like someone else, and every time she blinked he'd be wearing different clothes. He was looking at her like he knew all the answers to the questions he was about to ask, but he was going to go through them all anyway.

She couldn't decide which question of her own to ask first. Who are you? Why are you here? Do I know you? How do you know my real name? Are you dead too?

"Slow down, Angela." the man said, almost chuckling at her rush of thoughts. "I can't explain all of it to you now. Do you know where you are?"

Mary Alice couldn't name it. She hadn't encountered the fires of hell, but she hadn't seen any pearly gates either. For two and a half years she had been watching over Wisteria Lane and its residents, but now it felt like it had all gone by in a flash.

Oh god...am I waking up from a coma?

The man smiled. "No. You really are dead."

"But...I'm not in heaven?"

"Right. Unless you intended on spending eternity watching over the place where you killed yourself."

"They're my friends, I'm watching their lives unfold..."

It sounded nice, but something in the way he looked at her - it was almost pity - made her feel stupid to think that way.

"Were they your friends?" the man asked. "They knew next to nothing about you, Angela. And they didn't exactly share everything with you either."

"We all had our secrets," Mary Alice argued, still resisting his line of questioning.

"We've both said it by now: you're dead. You don't have to justify how you lived your life."

"Then why are you bothering me?"

"Because you have to justify your death."

Bang.

Mary Alice felt the gun in her hand. She hadn't thought about the deed in a long time. (Or had it been a short time?) She remembered seeing her son cleaning up the blood she'd left on the floor, and the guilt took her over. Why hadn't she felt guilty back then (or was it happening now)?

"You took your life to escape that feeling, didn't you?" said the man standing in front of her, organizing her jumbled thoughts for her. "It's overwhelming, isn't it?" he whispered in her ear.

Mary Alice saw her funeral again (or for the first time?), and all the people bringing food to the Youngs' home afterward.

"Don't you remember, Angela? How you felt when you saw Susan cry?"

Yes, Mary Alice remembered. Though it felt different this time. More guilt washed over her but that was a secondary emotion. Why did she feel so angry?

"I don't understand."

"I know."

The visions disappeared, and she was surrounded by white again.

"You took your life so you wouldn't have to feel anymore. And you were so eager to make your escape that you convinced yourself you'd made it to paradise. But, Angela...you can't escape your life. You either die happy or you get stuck somewhere in between."

"In between what?"

The man looked at her, studying her face, searching her eyes for recognition. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

"Do you really think you've been better off than all of them?" He waved his hand and seemed to part the whiteness like it was made of clouds. Through the white she could see Wisteria Lane. "Just because you could see what they were doing?" There was judgement in his voice, a tone that made Mary Alice feel small and ashamed.

"You were envious before you died; they didn't have a secret as big as yours. And now you envy the lives they all get to keep on living. When something bad happens to them you're frustrated that you can't help. When something good happens it's worse. You think they don't deserve it, not like you deserved it, because you always had the shit end of the stick, the bad deal, all the unfulfilled dreams and passions..."

He was speaking so fast it made her dizzy. Light headed and nauseated...these were sensations a body felt. Mary Alice realized she had a body again.

"You thought you'd take the easy way out. There's a price attached to that." The man placed a hand on Mary Alice's back, gently guiding her away from the vision of that beloved street and toward a new one. She wanted to stop and explain exactly how wrong he was, that she enjoyed watching over her friends, but his words rang true. All the floating and watching she'd done had nothing to do with love and friendship.

The surrounding white parted, and the new view gave her vertigo. With his hand on her back, Mary Alice felt like she could fall back to earth at any moment. Slowly the scene came into focus. A man and a woman, in bed, having sex. It only took her a moment to recognize that the man was her husband, the woman beneath him was a prostitute and the bed was in a cheap motel room.

"What is this?" Mary Alice demanded, shocked and shaken. Could dead people have bad dreams?

"This isn't his first time, Angela. You've only seen what you wanted to see."

"No..." The feeling that the past two and a half years had happened in a flash came back to her, stronger this time. Had she really been so blind?

"No, I've seen everything. I watched him kill Martha Huber!"

"You've only seen," he repeated, slower this time. "What you wanted to see."

Mary Alice felt heavy. A heart began to beat in her chest as hard and heavy as a cathedral bell.

"Why are you showing this to me?"

"Because you can't burn a bridge you haven't crossed yet. And frankly, you're taking up space in limbo."

Mary Alice could see the prostitute's eyes. She didn't just look bored; she looked like the light had been turned off inside.

Is that me? Mary Alice thought.

Almost.

"How do I get out of here?" Her puffy white cloud was no longer inviting. It had revealed itself as cheap plastic with a cartoon view. Mary Alice felt the hand on her back press a little harder.

Don't be afraid. You'll figure it out.

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll come down and explain it to you!"

He pushed, and she fell.