Sorry my friends, but the time has come to lift the pen off the paper and close the book. I would want to thank EVERYONE who reviewed, put this on alert, favorite it or just took the time to read the first few paragraphs. If I just had enough talent, time and money, I could have thought of an appropriate token of appreciation.

Wait, I do have a token of appreciation…A SEQUEL!

Yes, a sequel is in the works; hopefully I could straighten it out in two weeks or so. I think the sequel would be better than this one since it will be very dynamic, suspenseful, but with comic relief and romance every now and then. I wish you guys would also read it.

Chapter 10: An Angel's Redemption

"Oi! Instead of brooding here on the cliffs, you should be hunting for a job! Do you know that in just one week, you have enough female and male admirers to last you a lifetime?" Vasilis Stavros yelled to Patrick McKenna, the latter sitting on the ground, charcoal pencil in hand, looking into the distant seas.

It was already sundown, with the flaming sky matching the fading leaves of the trees, sharply contrasting with the black, rocky cliffs and the grayish-blue waters. Birds were already flying south as the air gave a distinct chill. The orange light shone on his face; the wind blew his hair.

"I thought nobody wants a dangerous man." Patrick said, looking back and arranging his materials, ready to go with Vasilis. "Oh, they do now…and you can spare yourself the trouble of looking for a job. You've got three job offerings. That's how badly they want you." The elder man said, emphasizing his last sentence.

"Alright, then, I'll see which of them would suit me." Patrick said, standing up and joining his host. "Before we go, let me see what kind of stick figures you've been drawing for the past few days." Vasilis said, his large, tanned hand grabbing the sketchpad. As he went through the drawings, he bit his tongue. As a high-ranking staff of a local inn, he needed to have a taste for art.

Though not enough to rival Da Vinci, Patrick's drawings, accompanied by poems and crude soliloquies written in elegant script on the corners, made Vasilis say, "You're not much of an artist…but I admit you're creative. I'm sorry for what I said earlier." He then looked at the first work: Patrick's self-portrait.

Hmm…at least you're not like other artists who exaggerate their looks. He then went on, seeing pictures of his own house, much like other Greek residences, painted in white. There were landscapes, like rough sketches of Avia, the surrounding woodland, and of course, the sea. But the one that Patrick finished that day was the most striking to Vasilis.

On the paper was a woman, wearing the uniform of a police force. Her hair was wavy, luxurious and black, falling gracefully on her shoulders. She had deep, brilliant eyes, an aquiline nose and full lips. She had no jewelry on her. She must be either Italian or Spanish. "Vasilis, is there anything wrong with the portrait?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow. "No…it's a good one. Who is she?"

"She's the one who saved my life. I lived with her for a while. Before I left, we were officially steady." Patrick said, smiling with pride. Vasilis tried to picture the woman beside Patrick. Not bad. They look good together. He returned the sketchbook. They walked back to town, trying to know which job would suit Patrick.

An employee of the Internet Office of the Holy See was creating new webpages for the Vatican site, mostly on the latest news. He was also checking the e-mail of the Internet Office for comments/suggestions and the like. He clicked on one, which had the subject: Site Comments and Suggestions for Improvement.

He saw an attachment in the e-mail, which the sender said, would include his suggested ways to improve. He has enough space in the text box to type that…then again, many people are lazy typists. Let's see what this guy has to say.

He downloaded the video and watched it afterwards. What he expected, he did not see in the file.

The room was gray, as if made from stone and it was dark. It didn't help that the only light there was a melting candle. There was also an empty chair in the middle, facing right. A tall figure blocked the camera view, only to sit in the middle of the chair. His profile was fuzzy in the weak illumination.

Oh, come on. Stop the drama and start giving your suggestions so I can work on it pronto.

"Fool. I didn't send this to give you site suggestions."

The Internet Office employee was about to close the video in irritation upon hearing the opening lines, but his colleague saw him. "Lucio, what kind of video is that?" a jovial, middle-aged man named Juan asked. "Is it a scandal?"

"You know that we will be fired if we were watching scandals. It's about a man who's supposedly going to give comments about the website, but turns out he wasn't. So, I'm going to delete it. He wasted about 15 minutes of my time," said the sneering Lucio.

"Let's watch it. The opening line might be a joke or something." Juan said, dragging a nearby chair and sitting beside Lucio. The latter sighed, restoring the file and watching it again. "What's the guy doing in the dark?" Juan asked. "I don't know…" Lucio said, letting the video roll.

"I sent this to give a little commentary on your fallen angel. Maybe you don't remember who he is. Let me remind you…"

"Fallen angel?! This man is crazy!" Juan retorted. "SHUT UP, JUAN." Lucio said. "What's the problem?" another officemate of theirs asked. Their whole office went to Lucio's computer, watching the video, with the explanations rolling along.

"…he set up all the conspiracies you went through a month ago, a demented mind. A hypocritical, disgusting and irrational priest who was so charismatic, intelligent and eloquent. You're a liar if you won't admit that he's gorgeous, with an angelic face."

"This guy must be gay. Let me get some popcorn. This sounds exciting." One of them said. "There's no popcorn here. Get back here." Juan said, as their co-worker came back. "Who on Earth is he talking about…irrational, gorgeous, charismatic priest…the camerlengo?" another said. "Who wants to take revenge on someone who's already punished?" "I do…because he didn't lay his hands on me before he left." A female co-worker said. They were hushed by Lucio, who was ardently listening.

"His crime was so grave, stooping to the lowest means to achieve his delusional dream of correcting the moral wrongs of science. Why didn't the government imprison him for life? Of course, how could I forget? The government allowed the CHURCH to give the verdict. I'm sure there's an indecent sum of money involved, knowing the Holy See has a lot of that."

"Don't get me wrong, though; I know the Church can punish…excommunication is alright, but just three years! He deserves a lifetime! Hmmm…I can only make one conclusion: He was a favorite of this corrupt Church…why? He's the Pope's son! He wasn't even supposed to be the camerlengo in the first place…he's not even a cardinal!"

A low, sinister laugh escaped the man's lips.

"Oh, I will have my revenge on him. Let me carry out the deed. These things will be known all over the world…and multitudes will rally in St. Peter's Square. They will know what kind of Church you are. They will know what kind of people you are. You don't know what I am capable of." The man's tone was confident.

"Thank you for your time…and have a nice day." He blew out the candle in the background and gray smoke, almost invisible in the darkness, floated around the screen. The video stopped.

"What the hell? I'm calling for a Computer Systems specialist from the Governorate. That could just be a prank…or whatever. We could track that guy down and put him in jail." Juan said, standing up, while everyone looked like they saw an actuarial mathematics textbook. "Track the guy's e-mail address, you might find something about him."

Lucio, a former hacker, tried to access the sender's details. He was convinced by the Office to "change his online ways and find redemption". He was initially reluctant, but afterwards, decided to stay. He was protected by one of the most powerful entities in the world, and he had pay somehow better than his salary in Rome.

But to his surprise, he could not access anything about the sender. The only thing they all knew was the ominous username of the sender: vos_mos_cado. They had no idea what it meant. It was also time to use the power of the Internet.

Victor Santi, a high-ranking employee of the Computer Systems office arrived in 10 minutes. A quick-thinking employee translated the Latin username over the wonder called the Internet while Victor tried to know where the video came from. Some Internet Office employees were at the edge of their seats, knowing this was a nail-biting moment.

"The environment of the video suggests a castle…" Victor said, his English heavy with Italian inflection. "Castel Sant'Angelo?" Juan asked. "No. I've been there. This place doesn't even seem in Rome. Hmmm…" Soon, he found out that the sender was in Italy, but not in Rome, not even the Lazio district. He was far from the metropolis.

"Whoever he is…and whatever he wants to do…he's not a prankster. He didn't give out personal details immediately. He wants to keep it a secret until his plan unfolds, I guess. Don't take the video lightly. I'll call for the Swiss Guards and the Gendarmerie." Victor said, leaving. "Guys, I found out what vos mos cado means!" someone blurted out as the others went back to their computers.

"What does it mean?" Lucio asked, now pale from the things found.

"You… will fall."

Another version of the video spread around the Internet; it was more aggressive and more critical than the first one. Its words were not just against the camerlengo, it bashed the whole Roman Catholic Church, even its lay members. The man recounted La Purga, indulgence, Luther's 95 Theses, The Great Schism, The Crusades, the Borgia family and the Vatican's immeasurable wealth. This version ended with the lines: Is this true religion? True faith? If you think it isn't, do something! This was more than enough to send people rallying in St. Peter's Square.

This was what the man wanted. His chilling laugh echoed around the stone room of his mountain retreat. Nobody could hear him but he laughed as if his enemy was lying dead and bloody in his arms. Soon, the Church shall fall…and the finale will come.

"Officers, until this little conspiracy plotter gets caught, all police in Italy will be on red alert, and that includes all of you." Commissioner Simon Marino said. "Any guesses on who he is?" he added. A few of the officers started scratching their heads until someone said, "Father, I mean ex-Father McKenna?"

"Probably…but any excommunicated person is not allowed to communicate with the Vatican or any Catholic. I heard that there was another version of the video sent to the Vatican's Internet Office." Marino said, quite in disbelief.

"Now, half of this force will be on patrol. Tomorrow, it will be the other half. Get rolling with me at 10 AM." He added, going back to his office. Inspectors Gallego and Moretti, Officers Fabia, Valentin and Guerriero were some of those who were left behind.

"Great, another anti-Vatican conspiracy planned all over again. Why would anyone want to blow up a country that doesn't even reach the area of 1 square kilometer…and without a formal military force?" Officer Fabia said, rolling her eyes as the five of them walked back to their desks. "This is just a big publicity stunt…I'm betting that the plotter's just a guy from a shunned religion or something." Officer Valentin said.

"Let's just hope that this guy's not going to steal a grain-sized piece of antimatter. We don't want Rome obliterated, don't we?" Officer Guerriero said, as they all sat at their desks, continuing whatever work they should be doing that time. Bella headed to her best friend's desk.

"I hope you're both doing well. This is a great challenge for both of you." Bella told Helena, her voice low and soft. "Thanks. Don't worry, I'm alright. I just don't know if he is, but I'm sure he's in good hands, probably doing something worthwhile." Helena said, as her partner left.

If Helena knew what Patrick was doing during those days, she would have considered it worthwhile. He was working in a slightly-obscure café, the smell of Liberica coffee beans sticking to his uniform: a white dress shirt with cuffed sleeves above the elbow, a black vest, black pants and shiny leather shoes. Spiky hair, bright eyes and a coy grin were permanent parts of his everyday wear.

Since cooler days were up ahead, he had a long-sleeved sweater draped on his neck and shoulders. It seemed like a scarf. It added a unique touch to his uniform, distinguishing him from the rest of the staff.

His task was mostly to brew the coffee, but he'd personally bring the coffee to the tables when all the others were busy. There seemed to be an influx of tourists that month, and he had no idea why. One afternoon, when all the waiters were running back and forth from table to table, Patrick decided to help a bit.

Carrying a tray with the orders, he glided on the dining area of the café, which would remind anyone of a 19th-century Starbucks. Low lights, quaint tables, great ambiance and soothing music were some of the features of his workplace. He went around the tables, placing the cups with a gentle hand.

The last table he went to was one filled with six tourists, three female, the others, male. They were chatting away merrily as he put down their cups. Accidentally, one of them hit the cups and the warm liquid spilled on his left hand. It would have scalded him had it been steaming hot.

"Oh my…gosh. I am so sorry. Are you okay?" the one who hit the cup, a tanned blonde asked, taking some of the tissues on the table and wiping it on his hand. "It's alright. I wasn't seriously hurt, was I?" he said, wiping his graceful fingers and the wet table. He vanished for a few minutes and came back with another cup. "Have a nice day, guys. If it's your first time in Avia, I suggest you visit the olive groves in the east," he said.

When he left, the six were dumbfounded. They recovered their words soon and started talking. "He's not Greek." "He looks familiar. I think I saw him on TV." "I think he's the guy who burned himself…" "He is. He is. He is!" "Sssssh!" "He looks much better in person." "I think Catholics can't talk to him since he's excommunicated." "Well, none of us are Catholic." "Before we leave Messenia, we are coming back here. We'll make sure he's our waiter." "I think it's inappropriate to say but…amen to that!" "If I see another guy like that, I won't be a lesbian any longer." "If I see his smile another time, I'm going to be gay."

Needless to say, Vasilis was right. Patrick would be a little more famous than he expected. The former Domus Sanctae Marthae employee started to admire his companion, somehow busy with work but still able to leave time for rest and play.

On weekends, he would either be in front of the café, or by his favorite spot on the cliffs. He had sketches of the interior of his workplace, self-portraits in his uniform, Vasilis' motorcycle (which he learned how to ride). His works reflected that he was well-adjusted to the new environment, but he never forgot his origins. Patrick drew Ireland as he remembered it, as well as Italy, especially Rome and the Vatican.

Vasilis had seen these and told the owner of the coffeehouse, who was his friend, to display a few of Patrick's drawings of scenic locations. They made interesting accents to the sometimes-bare walls. But among the contents of his sketchpad, Patrick's personal favorite was his portrait of himself and Helena on her balcony, staring at the eerily-glowing St. Peter's Basilica.

He was wondering if she was doing alright. She visited him in sleep numerous times. He would sometimes be lost in thought, remembering the memories they shared. He wished that three years would pass him by. Before he knew it, he would be walking the streets of Rome once more, looking for her.

One night, as he was standing on Vasilis' balcony, the house itself overlooking the small town of Avia, Patrick gazed at the sky, a spray of stars hanging on the dark ceiling of the world. It was a silent night, the only things he could hear were the rustling leaves and the chirping crickets. The thumping of Vasilis' work boots made him sigh, knowing that the silence would be broken.

"Patrick, come inside. You have to watch the news!" Vasilis said, calling the brooding man. "I know that there's some guy threatening the Vatican and it's not me. What else is there to know? You and I perfectly know that I can't do anything for them or against them right now." Patrick said, walking inside, nonetheless.

He sat on the sofa, the television set in front of them, not expecting something good to appear. He was right to expect such. Someone had left behind four bombs (which, thankfully, did not explode) at the Four Altars of Science. One in the recesses of the Chigi Chapel, one at the West Ponente, disguised as a tourist's bag, one behind the statue of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa and one in plain sight at the Fountain of Four Rivers in Piazza Navona.

Nobody had seen them placed there. The television showed shots of police officers examining the bombs. He saw the most familiar face in the world, examining the bomb with gloved fingers. "Oy, Patrick! Who are you staring at?" Vasilis asked. "See that officer, the one holding the bomb? That's her…that's Helena."

"Ohh." She's the one whom this kid loves. I never expected an ex-priest to have such taste in women. Even though Patrick's an excommunicated guy, I think she's lucky. He's hardworking, talented, and a little more brilliant than everyone else. Vasilis thought, smiling.

"Vasilis, I'll just go back outside." Patrick said, disturbing his housemate's thoughts. "Oh, sure." Vasilis said, flipping through the channels. The former chamberlain walked back to the balcony, taking out the necklace from his pocket. Helena, do you think we can stand the test of time and distance? The stars seemed to shine brighter, as if in reply to the statement.

It was already 9:00 PM and Helena was supposed to go home. She knew that Feliz was probably whimpering in the corner again or barking loudly for food. She and Bella had already pushed the door of the station open when Commissioner Marino called her.

"Inspector Gallego, our other negotiators are either at home or still at the crime scene, trying to gather information about the incident this morning. We have a suspect in the interrogation room, probably a lackey of the mastermind. You did specialize in negotiation and interrogation when you were in your police academy days, didn't you?" he said. She turned around to look at him.

"Yes I did. You know, commissioner, you could just have said, 'Gallego, interrogate this guy for me'. It would have made matters simple," she then turned to Bella and gave her house keys, "Do me a favor, Bella. Please feed Feliz, then you can leave." She dropped her keys into Bella's palm. "Sure," and Bella left.

"Alright…" Marino said, at another loss for words. "Let's go to the interrogation room now. The guy's there." Helena's shoes clacked loudly on the floor of the station, walking to the black door at the end of one of the hallways. Marino went into another door after giving her a set of papers. It revealed the man's background as well as the results of an earlier-conducted psychological test.

Officers Guerriero and Valentin saluted her as she stepped in front of them. They had the suspect with them. He was taller than Helena but not as tall as Officer Guerriero, who was 6'2". His raven hair seemed to be cut with a razor. He was tanned and lanky. Helena couldn't see his face since he was looking down, the shadows covering his eyes. He was wearing a black shirt and torn jeans, as well as dirty, faded sneakers.

The interrogation room was dimly-lit, with silver walls and black tiles. There was a mirror on one wall that allowed other officials of the station to observe, including Marino, who was currently watching. Officers Guerriero and Valentin locked the door as they entered. A table sat in the middle of the room, with three cold metal chairs, one each for the interrogator, a second interrogator and the suspect. The room itself was chilly.

On one of the chairs sat the suspect. Officer Valentin sat as the second interrogator. Helena was the main interrogator. Officer Guerriero was there to make sure the suspect would not cause trouble. She sat in front of the man, holding the sheets of paper in her hand. This interrogation was to be taped.

The suspect fidgeted in his chair, because it was too hard for his bottom. That was one of the techniques in the "Criminal Investigations and Confessions" manual. Make sure the suspect is uncomfortable. Helena would then use a few questions to make the suspect seem comfortable and establish the baseline.

Helena could put on a mask during interrogation, but outside the interrogation room, the mask existed no longer. It was time to put it on again. She read the suspect's background. Hm…here's something interesting. Favorite color: pink. She just had to smile.

"Good evening. So your name is Giordano Abandonato." "Yes, it is." He said, lifting his face to look at his interrogator. Her black hair was wavy, her brown eyes were beautiful. He thought that she couldn't be a threat. How could such an angel be evil? She can't be a good interrogator…but she is pretty. If I get out of this creepy interrogation room, I'm going to...

Helena read his background. He was an abused kid in his youth. She looked at Giordano. His eyes were a dull, lifeless green, lined with black eyeliner. His lips were pursed. She suddenly remembered Patrick's eyes, a radiant blue-green. Those were the eyes she'd rather be staring into right now. "Your surname doesn't seem to fit you. Now, who would harm someone like you?" Helena asked.

Gianni Valentin had never seen an interrogator who could show such sympathy. She's not showing sympathy. She's trying to get his sympathy. He remembered. Sandro Guerriero stood straight at the door, trying to decipher how Miss Gallego thought.

"Well…my father was an alcoholic. My mother was a drug addict. They left me at the foot of a mountain. They called me a worthless kid. So…I spent my whole life trying to be of worth. I'd do anything, just for them to see me. I want to tell them, 'Hey, you remember the kid you beat up and left at the mountain forest…who almost died because of some hungry wolf! You guys are such…' I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!" he looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

He went off his seat and sat knelt in front of Helena, looking into her eyes, which had not changed their expression. He was in tears. "Gianni, get the tissue box from the drawer." She said. She got the tissues out and started wiping his eyes.

"Here you go. Dry your tears. Crying won't help you. Now, I'm sure you can be of use. Everyone can. You'll have enough time to prove yourself to your parents. How old are you? Twenty-eight, right? You have a lot of time." She gave him the whole box as he wiped his eyes and nose.

"Well, how old are you?" he asked her. "I'm going to be thirty-six soon. Why? Do I look that old?" Helena asked, mock-offended. "No…no…no…sorry…I was just curious." Giordano said, worried that she was really offended. I made a big mistake…never ever ask the age question…now she's going to use those scare tactics.

"I'm sorry I touched on a very sensitive topic, Giordano." Helena said, touching his hand. Oh, I'm not sorry. Now I know where to hit you. "It's okay. I've never talked about it much to anyone…at least, you understand." He said, starting to feel at ease. He gave a small smile. Giordano…I'm not as stupid as you think.

She was now establishing the baseline by watching his verbal and non-verbal reactions. She asked a bunch of seemingly random questions but she was remembering his reactions. "Alright…thank you for answering those…now, let's shift to another set of questions. They'll be a bit harder, okay?" "Okay."

"When was the last time you ever held a dangerous object? It can be a knife, a gun, a pair of scissors." Helena asked, careful not to include the bomb. She saw him look to the left. Thinking of an alibi, eh? Look to the right, I know you're remembering the truth. Look the left or up…you're trying to deceive me. Don't try me. "The other day, I was cutting myself." He showed her the marks of a cutter on his wrists.

It's undeniable that you did cut yourself…but you seem to have the smell of powder all over you. She used that observation as another thing to hold on to. "Where were you when the bomb was discovered?" she asked. Again, he looked at the left. "I was at the Vatican." He said, looking quite confident, but his heart was pounding. Liar. You were caught outside Santa Maria della Vittoria. She knew he was trying to cover everything up. He was licking his lips and darting his eyes back and forth.

Now, the real interrogation begins.

Officer Valentin said he was going to go to the bathroom, but he went to the room where Marino and other officers were watching. "How is she so far?" Officer Valentin said, seeing Commissioner Marino sitting quite casually. "So far, so good…she could be an actress." "I don't know, but probably she used that face of hers against him."

Helena now stood up and looked Giordano in the eye. She put the papers in the drawer. She moved around the room, her heels clacking loudly. Unlike other interrogators, she didn't just invade the privacy of the suspect with rigid acts. In fact, she almost seduced the suspect. He was sweating all over as she said the details of the crime with a low, ghostly voice.

Patrick, don't worry, I haven't fallen for anyone yet. I'm just doing my job. You can be assured that it's only your lips I want to kiss. She thought, moving away from the suspect, whose defenses were rapidly weakening. He was psychologically weak and she enjoyed that. Based on the content of the paper, which was actually also laden with evidence, she made a story of the crime.

He kept denying when his acts came up but she kept reinforcing her story, making the theme easier for him to relate. I did not join the debate team for nothing. Helena thought. He stopped denying at one point. It was impossible to argue with her. "But, I told you, I was at the Vatican this morning!" "Maybe you WERE at the Vatican earlier…but not at 9:25, when they found the bomb. You were caught at Santa Maria della Vittoria. Then again, it might not be you…" Helena said, her tone changing. "Oh that's right, it wasn't me." Oh, you'll look for any way out of this. Sorry, no way. You won't. "If you hadn't been running off like any guilty criminal would, they wouldn't have caught you."

"What if the suspect himself was chasing me?" Giordano asked. "Well, that wouldn't happen because as I said earlier, you ARE the perpetrator…and any reasonable person afraid for their lives would stick glued to the spot out of fear, right?" Her smile was sinister. "Who are you?" Giordano asked, as the angel turned into a demon.

"I'm not who you think I am…" she said, the fluorescent lights blinking. Giordano never felt so manipulated, as if someone was pulling his strings. He was frustrated. He couldn't think straight. She sat down, no longer looking like a demon to his eyes.

"Look…you told me you wanted to show your parents you could do something to put in their faces. Now…what are your parents notorious for, besides alcoholism and drugs?" Helena asked, her attitude changing in a snap. "Lying." He said, looking down. She sat closer and held his shoulder. "Lying? Do you know that right now, you have a chance to put yourself over them? The moment you tell me what I need to know…this will all be over. You will forget this ever happened."

"Do I?" Giordano asked, captivated. "Of course you do. Now, tell me the truth…did you place that bomb behind St. Teresa's statue?" Helena asked. "Yes…yes I did…" he said, looking at the right this time, which Helena took as a positive sign.

"Now, you have two options now that you told me the truth: you can keep telling me other things you know…or you'll deny the presence of other parties in the crime." Helena said. Officer Valentin (in the other room) saw the small hair flip that Helena did. "Excuse me, Commissioner. I think that's my call." He said as Marino nodded, enjoying the scene unfolding.

"Before you tell me other things, I'm bringing someone here who'll witness your confession. For all you know, I'm not a legitimate police officer." She smirked as Officer Valentin walked in. "Now, Mr. Abandonato, did you do it?" "I did." He said plainly. Officer Valentin gave him a sheet of paper and a pen, which would confirm the voluntariness of his statements.

He signed immediately, thinking that this confession could lead him away from a senseless life. They found out more about the crime and how he got into its web. It was 11:00 PM when the interrogation ended. He was sent back into the small, heavily-guarded cell in the police station. Helena gave Marino a report of the important things Officer Valentin noted after confession.

Giordano was hired by a man whom he met in Genoa, but the man never stayed in the same place for a long time. He was supposedly looking for house helpers but was actually looking for lackeys. The man was a great manipulator and successfully put crime into Giordano's mindset. He was also to be rewarded 400 Euros, had he been able to just leave it there without anyone noticing.

Marino was so pleased with the interrogation that he let Inspector Gallego have a day off. She thought that she really needed it. It was already 11:30 when she came home. Feliz was fed well, thanks to Bella, who left a note on the fridge about it. Feliz was now sound asleep.

Helena had prepared herself for sleep, but she did not sleep in her room. She went to the room that Patrick used. It was desolate without him. She was tired, wasted to the hilt, but her body would not let her sleep.

She suddenly felt the need to take one of the papers in that room and a pen. She had no idea, but suddenly, emotion took over her. Strong emotions lead to inspiration and tendencies to write. She wrote in her native tongue, but translated it into English. Patrick, didn't we say that even if we can't communicate face-to-face, there are other ways?

It was already almost 1 AM and Patrick was still wide awake, writing on the balcony, with only an ancient-looking lamp as his small yet bright light. Vasilis was yawning as he approached Patrick. "Patrick, it's already 1 AM. I know you miss her and now you're filling up that little diary of yours with poems. You can do that tomorrow. It's your free day tomorrow." Vasilis said.

"No, while I'm inspired, I should write. Tomorrow might take away what remains in my head. What I think of, I must write down. It won't take too long, Vasilis. I'll be in my bed soon." Patrick said. "Goodnight, then." Vasilis said, muttering something about lovesick, talented writers whose ideas may have entered Patrick's head.

Tonight was a night unlike other nights. The ink from his pen flowed freely on the paper. With the cross pendant near his paper, he knew there was only one that could come to mind. Helena…if you were only writing at this moment, I could hear you.

That night produced two poems, one from Helena, one from Patrick. Both filled with longing, both coming from the heart.

Poem in Her Loneliness

Pain you gave me when you left

Your kiss still on that rose petal

A purposeful existence departed

While you walked out

Tears in my eyes form and drop

Every time I remember your lovely face

Remain steadfast, do not change

Keep that noble heart beating

I think that when God defined perfection

He was thinking of you

Created with a purpose

Strengthened by adversity

Key to my heart, none other

I await your distant return

Poem in His Seclusion:

Heaven on earth, my heart felt

When I lived again

Eager to find my savior, I found you

An angel from above

Love, I once denied its existence

Until it came in the form of your soul

Effortless, you looked, strong

You never ran away

Now I'm without you

I yearn to return to your side

Alone, cold and lost I am

Shunned by the world

Two entirely different people were brought together by circumstances. One needed redemption, the other wanted freedom from guilt. He was bound by gratefulness to her. She was bound by mercy to him. Their hearts transcended these binds, love replacing them. Together, they faced troubles, went through highs and lows. A great test came, a chance to prove that their love was true and pure.

This test would redeem an angel who fell from grace, but this angel who fell from grace left behind his Muse, who knew she could not love another. If they will still love each other even with such a test, only time will tell.

"I was struggling with my head when I extinguished the flames but I wanted to give you a second chance. When I saw you, I knew immediately that you needed it."

[An Angel's Redemption ends here.]

For this story and the sequel to come, you can be assured that I did my research, a lot, actually. : ) My purpose for doing such was to keep the integrity of the fiction, as well as contributing to the plot. For the interrogation techniques, I got it here (just put together the words):

http:// people. howstuffworks. com / police-interrogation1. htm

Thank you so much to you guys. You kept the story alive. Keep an eye out for the sequel.

For the poems, they are my original creation, so if you will, please critique them as well.

I'll be saying goodbye for now, hatching up the sequel, but I'll be back. Again, thank you to my dear readers. Review/PM me for your questions.

-TDYSG