Disclaimer: Nothing from Touched by an Angel belongs to me. And note that the quotes that I took from "Walk With You, part two" and "Netherlands" aren't exactly how they were originally said. They officially belong to Martha Williamson, CBS productions, and Moonwater productions.

*Chapter One: *

Monica awoke to the sound of the bus rearing, only to find that her head ached more than it had before. Her forehead was ice cold from being rested upon the glass of the window, and her mind was in a daze. For a moment, she didn't feel like opening her eyes for fear she would see too many things that might awaken her thoughts and bring back her memories. It wasn't that she did not want to remember her friend's faces. She just hated the pain that they brought; all she could think about when she saw them was that day—three years ago.

In the background of her thoughts, she could hear the bus driver's call to load the coach. The bus would be full in due time.

She turned her head to rest upon the cold window. Her wish was to get farthest away from the world as she could. After all, it seemed to be moving away from her. What was this far feeling that she was experiencing day in, day out? It was as if no one cared about her anymore, but she knew that not true, for her and Rose had a beautiful friendship that was blossoming more each and every day. Perhaps it was just the stress of being a supervisor.

Then her thoughts drifted back to Tess. How could her old supervisor handled it everyday, and with two charges—her and Andrew. For a moment Monica's mind started to throb just thinking about the matters. One charge was enough for her. And she regretted to think the truth: she wished she wasn't a supervisor and didn't have a charge.

The angel could feel the seats around her bumping as people filled them. The crown never seemed to end. People kept on flowing through the bus doors. She tried to close her eyes and fall back asleep, but the clamber of bodies moving about held her own body and soul awake.

It was useless, she thought.

"Last stop, Duluth, Minnesota," a voice blared through the speakers. The Irish angel jumped, quite startled. She looked around, seeing that the bus was halfway full. How could she be sleeping this much? It was very rare for an angel to need sleep.

Willingly, she slowly stood up and stretched. Somehow her feet managed to carry her off of the coach and out into the mid-size town of Duluth. It was a beautiful May day; the cool breeze mixed with mist from the nearby lake felt wonderful upon her skin from just coming from the hot barren dessert.

Her brown eyes searched for something—at the time she didn't know exactly what, but when she spotted the small café across the street, her instincts took a hold.

Coffee.

The warm liquid felt so relaxing as it ran down her throat. Monica could never go a day without coffee. Perhaps she was addicted. That made her think back to the day when Andrew had tried to convince her that she was.

No! she thought. I can't be thinking back.

The Irish angel leaned down and rubbed her head, then cradled it in her arms. Was there some reason why she was remembering everything? Did God want her to see some good out of all this?

"Thank you for all that you've done for me. You're going to make a great supervisor."

Gloria's words hung in Monica's mind. She could picture clearly the youngest angel dressed in a red winter coat, slowly disappearing into nowhere—wherever nowhere was at the time.

"You will remember all the times that we had together, won't you, Angel Girl?"

"I promise, Andrew. I promise I will."

Was it true? Had she really promised her friend that she would remember everything—every assignment they did together, walking through the valley of death? How could she if it hurt so much?

"Tess, I never knew—when we first met—that the road ahead of us would be so long. And now, I don't think I can just drive away without you…"

But she had. She truly had. And no matter how hard she tried to forget that, it kept attacking her mind. Three years ago, this had happened, and she was still struggling to push it away from her daily thoughts.

"Oh, Father," she sobbed. "How could I have?"

"Are you all right, Miss?" a sympathetic voice asked her. Monica lifted her head up and looked straight into worried green eyes. For a moment, she almost wished…she almost thought…

"Yes…not really," she answered shakily.

"My name is David. Can I help you? Would you like a tissue?" he asked with a comforting tone.

"No thank you," Monica replied with an Irish lilt that sounded dead at heart.

"Are you sure? You look like you could use one," he pursued. Monica smiled and wiped her eyes.

"I'm that bad, huh?" she asked almost with a giggle.

"Do you want the truth?" He smiled and handed her a black cloth.

"Thank you, David," she said after wiping her face. Finally she looked directly into the face of her helper and smiled. "Is that better?"

"Much," he answered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Much. Say, let me walk you out of this place. And I tell you what, I'm going to buy you a pastry on our way."

"Oh, I couldn't accept it. I hardly know you," the Irish angel concluded. She struggled to keep the tears from flowing out of her brown eyes.

"No, really, it would be my pleasure," he gestured. Reluctantly she nodded and picked out a pink-covered doughnut from the showcase.

"Thank you, very much, David," she said, gratitude flowing in her Irish lilt which was suddenly coming back to life.

"You're very welcome…I don't believe I caught your name yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Monica," the Irish angel told her new companion.

"Well, then, Monica, would you like a ride?" he asked in a smooth tone.

"Actually, I don't know quite yet where I'm headed," she explained. "I just came here from…well…from a far away place and wasn't even sure if this was where I'm supposed to be."

"Then I suggest I show you around. Hop in." He gestured toward the door of his black Sedan.

Suddenly, in Monica's mind, images and voices flashed in front of her.

A black convertible, a dessert, a man dressed in black…

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, thank you."

"Oh, come on, Monica. You know you want to."

"No, I better not. I shouldn't…" her voice trailed off. She was afraid—afraid of something she didn't know. For some reason, her heart was pulling her towards the car, while another part was pulling her away. She didn't know what to do.

"Monica, you know you want to," David's friendly voice insisted.

"I guess…"

"I knew you would. Now come on and I'll show you around. So tell me a little about yourself, Monica. I'm interested."

"Well, there's not much to my story. I guess I just go wherever my job takes me and I help people," Monica explained in an unsure voice.

"That's almost exactly what I do," David told her with a wink. "Only just the opposite," he whispered under his breath so she couldn't hear him. "Do you have any family nearby?"

"I have family almost everywhere," Monica laughed, for to her ears it sounded quite funny.

"Same here. If you look over there, you can just see Wisconsin. That's the next state over. See, it's border touches Lake Superior, which, by a matter of fact, is the world's largest fresh water lake."

"Interesting," Monica murmured. She watched the waves splash up and down on the rocky shore. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a magnificent structure.

"That's the Ariel Bridge. It's one of Duluth's main tourist attractions. And the bride over there is the Bong Bridge," David replied.

Monica nodded and slumped back in the seat. She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length auburn hair and yawned. Her brown eyes scanned the area around her. There were many buildings, though not skyscrapers. The town wasn't too big or populated. A few thousand people lived there. She looked over to her left and saw a hill that separated Duluth from another small town of Proctor.

"Are you tired?"

"A wee bit," the Irish angel replied. "I've been sleeping almost all day."

"Just rest. I'm taking you to a lovely spot where I visit often," David explained. "I like to call it my own special place for I went through a magnificent change there."

"I have a spot like that," Monica told her companion.

"I think we all do, Monica. Though some do refuse to have one, for fear that that spot might bring back aching memories."

Monica felt like sliding down in her seat and disappearing. It was almost as if David had read her mind. She felt so uncomfortable for some odd reason. There was an uncanny feeling growing in her, and she was almost afraid to find out what that feeling was.

"I think I know what you're talking about," she said in almost a whisper.

"Now, Monique…I mean Monica…" David's words trailed off when he saw the gasping look on Monica's face. "What?" he asked too innocently.

"You called me…Monique," Monica gulped. Suddenly David's friendly look became more of a dark expression, and his gray pant suit that he had been wearing turned pitch black. Her mind trembled in confusion and anger all at the same time. How could this be happening? Was her faith being shaken again?