Please review, guys. And thank you so very much, greeneyes! I do hope you continue to read and review my story! You've done what no one else has done, and youALONE are the sole reason I updated! I hope you feel special! Let that be a note for others as well. Just... review, even if it's anonymous. I don't care. I haven't finished writing this story, so if I don't get enough encouragement, I'll hit a writer's block and never finish this story. Please, for my sake, review, so that I can have some closure to this story, and you can too, once it's done. (It's gonna be a long one, btw)


Sharona's mind raced as she prepared for whatever was to come, hastily praying that she make it through this accident, if only for Benjy's and her mother's sake. She had sold her boxy old Volvo station wagon in San Francisco, using the money and her earnings from work with Monk to get herself a Cavalier for work in Jersey, and God, it felt like a death box at the moment.

After the screech of her brakes subsided, the metallic thud soon followed, along with the loud crunch of the deer's bones breaking with the impact. The hisses following signified the cracking of her radiator, the high-pitched crackling the glass of a headlight shattering.

Before she was helplessly flung forward, dangerously close to the steering wheel, the airbag erupted in the nurse's face, violently throwing her head back against the headrest. The seatbelt held her body against the seat firmly, the tightened bands cutting into her skin with their death-grip. The deer's torso slid a distance up the hood, crumpling the metal like paper, which emitted a thunderous sound as Sharona gritted her teeth in the darkness of her own eyelids, struggling to hold her breath as the expanded airbag suffocated her in its turgidity. The Cavalier's tire went up over some broken-off part of the deer—either that or the bumper—and the car came to an abrupt halt.

It was another minute before Sharona took a breath. Another minute after that before she opened her eyes. When she finally opened her eyes, her arms went up instinctively to push the confining airbag away from her face. Her heart was pumping erratically, and she shuddered with each forceful, rapid thump of each heartbeat, imagining the organ pumping all of her blood out of her body through her wounds as she succumbed to the betrayal of her own heart.

As she ran her hands over her clothing, she realized that she was not bleeding. However, her left arm was sore to the touch and made a creepy popping sound as she lowered it from her escapade with the airbag. Her chest ached with every breath, and her neck was immovable from the pain shooting through it.

"Oh, God," she said aloud as she kept her neck stiffened, for fear of more pain. I probably have a broken arm. And broken ribs. I'll probably die from massive internal bleeding, or something. What the hell am I gonna do?

Her headlights were still on, piercing the rainy mist in front of her vehicle. Through the spiderweb of cracks that now was her windshield, Sharona observed an entire herd of deer standing around the road, as if out for revenge for killing one of their own. It was quite creepy, and sent a shiver down her spine. This isn't even a spot in the road that deer frequent, she thought. There are two sheer cliffs jutting up on both sides of the road, and tons of that barbed-wire fencing.

Without moving her sore neck, she reached down to remove her seatbelt so that she could retrieve her purse. The deer didn't even seem frightened by the fact that less than 15 yards away there was a lit-up vehicle, and her, smelling strongly of hospital, cursing away in the driver's seat, less than a foot away from a dead comrade on her hood.

After several pained minutes of reaching for her purse, she retrieved it and most of its spilled contents from the passenger-side floor. I can't stay in this godforsaken car anymore, she thought. I need to get out of here now, before I have a conniption fit.

She dialed the number for the hospital as she exited her vehicle, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out. She had worked in the cardiac floor of the hospital a few months before and knew that Pam Benty, one of her good friends, was working tonight. The deer stood like ghosts, observing her warily as she moved to the side of the road and leaned against the rock of the cliff nearby, listening for a ring.

A woman in her mid-thirties answered the phone; she had been right about Pam.

"Hello, Pam? It's me, Sharona."

"Hey, Sharona. It's been awhile since I've seen you. How are you?"

"Well, not so good, Pam. I was in a car accident with a deer, on, uh—"

The woman on the other end cut her off.

"Oh, God, Sharona! Are you okay?"

"I may have broken some ribs, uh, maybe my arm. Not really sure though."

"Why didn't you call 911? This is just a nurse's station. Do you want me to tell the ER to send you an ambulance?"

Sharona sighed, kicking the ground. She couldn't arrive in an ambulance. This had to be low-key, for her mother was staying at that very same hospital and might overhear what happened, and of course, for her son Benjy's sake. May as well not scare him any more than I have to, arriving home all beat up with a totaled car. All my coworkers know that I try to tough things out if I can help it, so why should this be any different?

"Nah, but could you have someone there pick me up ASAP? These creepy deer are just standing around, looking at me like they know something I don't know."

"Okay, where are you, Sharona? I'll let them know right away."

"I'm on Samson Ave, about a mile from the bridge."

"A deer, on Samson Ave? I wonder how the hell that could have happened."

Sharona couldn't help but chuckle. "You're telling me! It's bizarre! Not only one, but there's a whole herd of them staring at me right now!"

"I'm telling them right now, Sharona!" Sharona could hear her loudly exclaiming the news to her coworkers at the nurse's station."Susan! Gary! Hey Geena! Come over here, Donna! Listen, guys! Sharona Fleming was just in a bad car accident! Will someone go pick up Sharona Fleming on Samson Avenue near the bridge?"A pause, as if someone was asking her something. Pam's answer was all that could be heard. "It sounds like her car was totaled. She thinks she may have broken some bones.… Yes, this is her on the line." She soon returned to the phone, in a normal voice."You just sit tight, okay, Sharona? Don't worry, help is on the way!"

"Alright then. Thank you so much, Pam."

The women soon hung up and Sharona was left to her thoughts, and the silent glare of the glowing deer eyes around her.

Thank God the rain stopped, she mused, gazing at the fuzzy red glow of the Cavalier's taillights. I wonder when they'll get here. She checked her watch. It was now midnight. I wonder who will come get me. Gary? He always was eager-to-please. Susan or Donna might, but I've never heard of Geena. She must be new. God, these deer are really creepin' me out.

Sharona walked over to the front of her car to the driver's side, and leaned in to turn on the emergency flashers. No use getting re-hit by someone flying up over the hill. There was a funky smell to the air around her vehicle. Why are all these deer hanging around the reek of this dead one? Rage built within her and she ran at the lingering animals, causing them to snort and hightail down the road.

The nurse made a call to AAA, but the driver said he couldn't be there for another hour, for Samson Ave. was far from his vicinity. Grumbling, she told him where her car would be located so that at that time he could pick it up himself. Her arm and chest hurt too badly to wait for some tow-truck driver.

In about thirty-five minutes Geena arrived, and pulled her car beside Sharona's mangled Cavalier. The blonde nurse hopped in, and they soon reached the emergency entrance of the hospital.

Thank God Geena is here to help me fill out some of this crap. If I wasn't an employee here I probably wouldn't have gotten in here for another couple of hours. I'm surprised she was the one to show up, considering I've never even met her before, but she seems nice enough. Since her dominant arm was too painful to move, let alone write, she had Geena sign the patient sheets for her and get her prepped to be examined by the doctor. Once she arrived inside the emergency room, a doctor looked her over and did some x-rays, finding that she had broken five ribs and fractured her left arm. A tendon in her neck was also partially torn, and so she was fitted with a neck brace and her arm was set in a cast. The ribs, he said, would be taken care of with pain medications and limited movement. She'd have to take off work, which sucked because she was the only one in her house making any income.

How am I gonna explain all this to Benjy? And to Mom? I'll just wait until tomorrow to tell her, she deduced, beginning to stand back up from her examination. By then she'll be home and safe and—her thoughts were interrupted by Pam approaching her with the most sorrowful look on her face.

Her jaw dropped at the sadness of Pam's expression. She stumbled towards her friend, wondering what could have possibly given her that look. Had her face been damaged as well? She had gotten off easy for what had happened to her, so what was it?

"Pam, what's wrong? I'm alright; you don't have to worry about m—"

"It's…your mother," she stammered. "Shortly after you called, she went into cardiac arrest." She approached Sharona until they were barely a foot apart. "Sharona—we did all we could but… she didn't make it. I'm so sorry…."

Barely had the words settled upon her mind when Sharona collapsed onto the ground.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"Natalie, do you know where the colander is?"

Adrian Monk had just returned from an evening of grocery shopping with Natalie, and was getting ready to make some spaghetti, setting out the ingredients and supplies on the kitchen island. The short-haired blonde appeared from the dining room with a bag of frozen chicken.

"Um, no I don't. Do you even know what it's for?"

He glared at her. "Of course I do. It's for straining vegetables and noodles."

"Okay, well, I didn't know that. I honestly wasn't sure." She gave him an apologetic smile, for she realized that her question had come out a bit sardonic.

She proceeded to put the chicken in the freezer as Adrian carefully arranged the ingredients and kitchen supplies.

"I don't know why the baggers always put the buns with the pasta," he scoffed, removing the slightly smashed bun bag. "Items should be bagged according to weight, not food group. Everyone knows that."

"Hey, if detective work gets boring for you, Mr. Monk, you could be a great grocer. You sure know more than I thought you did about food."

"I have my moments," he murmured, twitching his shoulder. His confidence soon faded. "Oh, God, I don't think I have a 2-quart saucepan."

Frantically, the detective scampered over to the cupboards and searched for the coveted item. However, all the saucepans were either larger or smaller in volume than desired.

"We have to go back to town now," he announced, walking back over to the kitchen island. "I need a 2-quart saucepan."

"What for?"

"The recipe calls for a 2-quart saucepan, for the meat sauce. I don't have any—"

"You can always use something a little bigger. It's not going to hurt anyth—"

"It doesn't say that, though. It should state which saucepans are appropriate if there is more than one that can be used."

"Please, Mr. Monk. The store closes at 9 pm, and—" she glanced at the wall clock—"Oops. It's 9:05 now, too late. Please, I'm really hungry. We've been gone all day, shopping in a food store, no less, and I d—"

Monk shook his head, in denial of the fact that he'd have to deviate from the recipe. "—Well, which one should I use instead?"

"I'd say the closest one above 2 quarts." She walked over to the pan cupboard, and pulled out a 4 quart saucepan. As he watched with mouth agape, she put it down next to him.

"Natalie, th—that's two times too big!" He grabbed the saucepan from the kitchen island and proceeded to put it back in the cupboard. "What would you like to eat instead? We can't have the spaghetti."

"How about this? We order out. Do you want Chinese or pizza?"

"What do you and Julie prefer? Isn't she coming over soon?"

"I already told you, Mr. Monk. She's at a friend's house for the night. She's not coming over."

"For the entire night? Like, she's going to be sleeping over in some… stranger's house? How can you just… let her do that?"

"For your information, Ashley is not a stranger to her, nor is her mother a stranger to me. Don't worry so much all the time. Let me help you."

She crossed over to Monk's side of the kitchen island and reached across him for the meat sauce.

"How many cans of this did you buy?"

"Four. Why?"

"Let's make two cans tonight then. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse—"

"Oh, please… don't." The detective covered his eyes, trying to block that picture from his mind.

The pair worked together on the doubled-up recipe, making a delicious, huge bowl of spaghetti.

"It's been a long time since I've eaten this late—" Monk began to say, but then halted, looking thoughtful.

"When was the last time?"

He finished up his forkful of spaghetti, and then continued. "It was with Sharona. I couldn't sleep, so she came over with some chicken pot pie. Even though it wasn't a Thursday, I still ate it, but it really felt strange."

"Do you remember why you couldn't sleep?"

"The next day marked the seventh year she's been… gone…."

"Well, I can understand that! Why, in a couple of days, it will have been the seventh year without Mitch…. Wait a second, what is today?"

"The twenty-fourth."

"It's tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day he was killed…."

"You mean, tomorrow is the anniv—"

"Okay, okay, sorry I phrased it wrong. I'd better go." She stood up, avoiding eye contact with her employer. By leaving now, she'd be abandoning the dishwashing process, but knew that Monk would insist upon rinsing the dishes himself, as well as placing them into the dishwasher. Throughout her life, she had always come across as the tough girl, the survivor, and she couldn't show him how much this upcoming anniversary bothered her, and her almost forgetting about it. She knew this day was coming, but it had crept up on her, just like every anniversary had.

"Good spaghetti, Mr. Monk. See you tomorrow."

He stood up, confused. "What's wrong? You never just… leave like that."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she snapped, startling herself with her upset showing through. "Okay, I'm sorry how that came out. Have a good night!"

She unlocked the door without turning around. Seven. Seven had always been Mitch's lucky number, and now it's a number of lonely years without him. A number of years that Mitch hasn't been able to live… with me, with Julie. And now her eyes were tearing up as she fumbled with the deadbolt; oh, God, why won't the door unlock?

Adrian knew that the anniversary of Mitch's death was more important to her than she wanted him to see, yet found himself following her to the door.

I remember that night, with Sharona, the seventh year after it all happened... I was trying to hold back as well. I actually made myself sick from trying to keep my emotions bottled up. I think that's why I called her initially, because I thought I was sick. She didn't even ask any questions; she just showed up at my door with a chicken pot pie she had made for Thursday. It all had happened on a Wednesday night, around 11:36pm. We ate and talked; that was all I needed. Some company.

"But does she?" he mumbled aloud to himself. Oh, thank goodness she's not paying any attention, the detective mused.

Natalie had just opened the door when Monk arrived and caught it behind her.

"Natalie," he managed to blurt. She stopped, but did not turn around.

"What, Mr. Monk?"

"Uhm…. Well, the thing is, I know how hard this, uhm, type of thing is, so—" A quick sigh of exasperation, and he continued. "If… you'd rather not stay alone, you can stay here for the night…."

After his offer, the tightness around her shoulders and neck subsided, and she managed to swipe an arm across her eyes before turning around to face him.

"I don't even have pajamas with me—" She stopped herself from continuing. "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to burden you with my problems. I'll be fine; don't worry, okay?"

She turned away, attempting to wave him off, but he stayed put.

"You'll just make yourself sick, keeping it all in, Natalie…."

He really can be thoughtful, she mused. Right now though I hate myself for almost forgetting about the day…

Monk stared at Natalie's back, remembering a night very similar to this that ended in sickness. Sharona's visit ten months ago. Well, it wasn't really a visit; I was ill in the hospital, with double pneumonia, and she saved my life—and did my laundry while I was incapacitated. The captain's call was the only reason why she returned. I should have called her to ask about her mother… but she never even gave me her number…. She ended up getting sick too. Some company I am. Maybe I should shut my mouth and let Natalie go home.

Natalie had since turned around and was waving her hands in Monk's face. He returned to reality to find Natalie staring at him worriedly with glassy eyes.

"Mr. Monk, are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I—just—I guess I just zoned out; I'm sorry."

"Goodnight, Mr. Monk. Thanks for the offer, though; I really appreciate it."

She began walking away again. Why does she have to make this so difficult for me? Even though it was killing him inside, he knew that she shouldn't have to stay alone tonight. Now, if Julie were there with her, things would be different, but she'd have the whole night to her thoughts and memories of Mitch.

"Natalie, wait. Don't leave."

Maybe I should just give in, she thought. He's awfully persistent about this. Maybe he knows better than to let me stay alone.

"Okay, okay, you win," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll stay, if it makes you feel any better."

She followed him back into his apartment, and stood in the hallway as he retrieved clean sheets from the closet.

"Here, these are for you," he said, handing her the neatly wrapped sheet set. "I cleaned them two days ago, so if there's any dust or… pollen or anything, I have three other sheet sets. However, you may find that they are worse, because they haven't been cleaned since Tuesday, and th—"

"They're perfect, Mr. Monk. Thank you." She gave him a grateful smile and headed out to the living room, where the couch awaited its transformation into a bed.

Monk couldn't watch the couch being undone, the room being cramped into a smaller floor area by the addition of the spread-out mattress. He'd wait in his room, patiently, until she said it was alright to enter the area again. That meant that he couldn't even remove the dishes from the dining room table, which he had actually neglected to do while she was excusing herself quietly from his apartment. There'd be a clear view of the unraveling of his couch, and that he couldn't handle at the moment.

Several minutes passed, and soon Natalie appeared at his bedroom door. "It's all done, Mr. Monk. I got done with bathroom stuff, so it's all yours. I also took the dishes and silverware from the table and rinsed them off. I was going to put them in th—"

All of a sudden Monk was panicked. "You didn't put them in the dishwasher, did you? I always re-rinse each dish twice before putting it in. Please tell me you didn't pu—"

"I didn't put them in because I knew how you felt about it. I know you better than you think I do." She flashed him a devious little smirk.

"Then why are you still here?"

Natalie rolled her eyes at the comment.

"Let me ask you this: why do you put yourself down like that all the time? You are a great person. You are an honest man who is great at his job. A genius, in fact. The absolute best. I would reinstate you to the police force in a heartbeat, because you deserve it more than anyone in the world."

Adrian felt chills down his spine at the unexpected praise. Not that he didn't get praised every time he solved a case, but the fact that a fairly new assistant was giving him so many compliments at once, it left him speechless. Needless to say, it actually made him uncomfortable, and he twitched his shoulder as he continued to watch her for signs of mockery.

"Did you mean what you just said?"

"Yes. With all of my heart."

There was no awkward pause, no second for her to consider. She just said it straight out that she meant it all. And using such words to express that she did indeed mean it. He immediately felt guilty for assuming that she might be kidding, before he had asked.

A strange feeling arose in Adrian. It was a feeling seldom felt, if only for a few seconds at a time, but this time it was like a constant buzz that lasted as long as Natalie's convincing smile. He felt confident, actually proud of himself. He smiled back at his assistant, thanking her wordlessly for the boost.

Now all she needs is a boost, he mused. She's the one about to have a bad night.

It was at this point that Adrian faltered. He had problems giving people compliments, especially if it was a woman who was not Trudy. Oh, with Trudy it was simple. It just flowed straight from my heart and out of my mouth. Now it's like pulling teeth for me to think of something nice to say to Natalie. She's probably expecting it; that's why she's still standing there staring at me. Say something, Monk.

"Goodnight, Mr. Monk. Thank you for letting me stay here."

And with that she disappeared into the darkened study, followed only by the sound of the rustling of the sheets.

Sighing with exasperation, Monk shuffled into the kitchen to place the dishes in the dishwasher. They were sparkling, sparkling from her method, whatever it was. The dishes did not need a re-rinsing. Neither did the silverware. They were rinsed to perfection. Smiling softly, he placed the dishes and silverware in the dishwasher and finished up his nighttime bathroom routine before heading to bed.


Whenever you review my story I will acknowledge you each and every time, AND I will make an effort to read & review your stories, even if they are a different genre. So you will be getting more reviews as well as me. I don't think of this fanfiction thing as a contest, but I'll assume that the people who refrain from reviewing do. I think oftheR&R processas a mutual friendship between authors seeking feedback. Let's face it, we all post here for that. Why else would we go through all the trouble of letting others read our stories? Thanks, everyone. --Amy