*Chapter Three: The Deceiver*

"Monica?" a nervous voice called out. The Irish angel didn't respond. Andrew could tell how lost she was at the moment, in her own world, thoughts overcoming her. "Um…Monica?" he tried again. Slowly, he sat down next to her in the grassy field.

The wind was lightly blowing her auburn hair, tossing it in front of her despondent brown eyes. For a moment, the angel of death didn't know whether to wait until she noticed him there or try once again to awaken her from her day dreaming.

"Monica, honey?" he called, this time touching her arm as he did. The Irish angel slowly turned her head to face him and managed a half-hearted smile that left him feeling as downcast as she was.

"Hi, Andrew," she murmured, immediately turning her head back to the distance where she had been studying before. He narrowed his eyebrows and cast her a perplexed look with his green eyes. He listened, as if waiting for something.

"That's it? No 'Andrew, I missed you'? No hug?" he asked her. The angel of death slowly put a strong hand on her arm and soothed it. It was then that she snapped out of her fantasy world.

"Oh, Andrew," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry." The auburn waited for his trustful gaze until she fell into his warm embrace. "I'm just kind of tired," she mumbled, hoping he'd take it.

"Monica," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I've missed you so much. I can't believe you're actually…here," Andrew told her sincerely. Suddenly he tensed and drew back, looking her straight in the eye. She almost turned her gaze, for fear he would see right through her—whatever was in her. "You do know why I'm here, right?" She managed a nod and smiled.

"Of course."

"This is not like a big vacation, honey. This is a regular assignment that I'm going to help you with. Actually, I'm here to help you with your…" his words trailed off. "You know that the Father and everyone else is worried about you. You're drifting away—more and more as the days go by."

"I've just been experiencing some stress from all these assignments, and then training Rose. She's my charge," Monica told her friend in her sweet Irish lilt.

"Monica, the Father is giving you and me a day just for relaxation." A smile spread across his face. "And I picked out a spot that I know you would definitely enjoy," he continued. Monica didn't seem to brighten at all. When Sam had first told her that Andrew was coming, she had thought the two of them would have the best time ever—that she would enjoy his company. But now that she was here, she realized that she didn't want to interact with anybody—including her best friend.

*******

The middle-aged looking woman slid her back down against the brick wall and crossed her arms. This assignment wasn't going how she had planned it to go—especially since this was her first assignment without her supervisor there to guide her.

The clouds covered the warm sun, preventing the light to wash out the darkness with happiness. But as she sat on the damp ground, she wondered how there could be happiness in such a town.

The small town had it's churches, believers, and Christian symbols, but there was only one problem: the church's walls were knocked in and the doors barred, the believers had either died from age or had been killed, and the Christian symbols were chain crosses found around teenager's necks.

"Rose," a familiar Irish lilt summoned. The middle-aged woman looked up through her glass-covered blue eyes and tried to smile at the sight of her supervisor.

"I thought you said that you couldn't approach or help me in any way on this assignment," Rose said in her sweet tone that had turned gloomy.

"I did say that, but I thought you might need to know something," the auburn said, walking closer to her charge.

"And what would that be?" Rose asked, adjusting her glasses so she could see straight.

"There's been a change of plans," the Irish supervisor continued. "You're supposed to go to the club down the road in five minutes and take part in the activity that the townspeople are going to start."

"Activity?" Rose asked, startled. "What kind of activity?" she asked, taking out a pad of paper, ready to write anything else her supervisor said.

"You'll see. I'll stop by later to check on you, Rose," the auburn said with her Irish lilt. "Then I'll give you further instructions."

Rose nodded and stood up. The Irish supervisor watched until the small figure disappeared around the corner. The nearly newborn angel was definitely heading to the nightclub.

Just then, a dark figure appeared in the shadows. His black outline was only visible to the auburn. She didn't turn around to look at him.

"Good," the dark figure snickered. "Now get ready for your next assignment, Monique," he said in a haunting voice. The so-called-Monica let out a laugh and suddenly her brown eyes flashed an evil red.

"I'll be glad to," she hummed.

*******

"We're here," Andrew whispered, lowering his blond head so he was equal level with the Irish angel. Monica fluttered her brown eyes open, sitting up abruptly, almost causing Andrew to jump. "You're okay," he said softly, soothing her auburn locks.

"Oh, Andrew!" she exclaimed. "I just had the worst nightmare." Her eyes were filled with tears.

"It was just a dream, Monica. It's not real," Andrew comforted, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

"But I dreamt about Monique…about Rose…about…oh, I can't bear to talk about it!" she said frantically. Her face was sweaty and her hair was sticking to her forehead.

"Well, I want you to forget about your dreams now and just focus on the beauty…" his words trailed off when he saw the awe-filled expression overcome the Irish angel's trembling face.

"Andy?" she asked. "Where are we?"

"A little "getaway"," he joked with a laugh. "To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It's just a spot that I thought looked peaceful.

For a long moment, the two observed the tranquil forest. There were natural springs running down rock formations, birds singing their afternoon songs, trees covering the green landscape, fields of wildflowers that filled the air with lustrous fragrance, and in the middle of it all, a mid-sized, pitched tent. It seemed as if it belonged there—deep in the forest green, oblivious to any of the world.

"Andrew," Monica said solemnly, turning to face him. "I think I'm going to enjoy this. I really do."

"Good," he said, transferring his gaze back to the falls ahead of them. "That's all I want. Just take this day to relax. You really need to, Monica." The Irish angel nodded in agreement.

"Maybe I do," she concluded. For once, it actually sounded as if she meant it—putting aside all of her worries and such, whatever they were.

"I call dibs on the tent! You get to sleep outside," Andrew joked, as soon as they were lugging there "heaven-sent" bags down the small trail.

"Oh, no you don't!" Monica called after him. Andrew started darting through the woods, running at a pace that his best friend surely could not match.

"Well, then," he continued. "Whoever gets there first…" his words trailed off as he stopped short.

"What is it, Andy?" she asked suddenly, realizing the awe-stricken look upon his handsome face. She tried to follow her gaze to where he was looking, but couldn't quite figure out what he was so intrigued by.

"Monica, I just realized something," he said, trying to keep his voice as serious as possible. But as much as he tried, his solemn look formed into a held back grin.

"Andrew?" she asked again.

"We don't have marshmallows," he said with a laugh, knowing that he had her worried. She reached over and playfully hit him on the arm, causing him to wince.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, dropping his bag and rubbing his arm. "Have you been doing some search and rescue while we've been apart?" Monica held a mischievous grin and brushed her hands together.

"No," she replied. "I'm a woman, what do you expect?" She was beaming from ear to ear.

"Nothing that hard," he answered, shaking his head. "Seriously, Mon, you really need to hold back on poor Andrew." She giggled. He stopped and picked up his bag.

"Oh, by the way, Andy," she said with a laugh. "I won the tent." Andrew looked up to see her just reach the small tent before he could even open his mouth. For a second, he just stood there awestricken, trying to think up something to say.

"Um…Monica? Maybe we can work something out?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulder. Monica shook her head. "A mocha latte?" He gulped. That made her ears perk up.

"Well, under one condition," she preceded.

"And what would that be, Angel Girl?" he asked sarcastically.

"You don't snore." Both let out in a tremendous laughter.

Maybe, Monica thought. This vacation will take my troubles away.