*Chapter Four: Evil's Way*

Andrew sat on the grassy hill and overlooked the tranquil area intently with his emerald green eyes. He was looking for some kind of answer to his silent thoughts, but his mind started to drift away with the beauty of the lake. It's waters lapped gently upon the rocky shore, creating music to his ears.

"Father, thank you for this day—this day that I can spend with my friend. Thank you," he whispered, his voice blending with the wind's low whistles.

Then his thoughts traveled back to that morning. Why hadn't Monica been as excited to see him as he was? She had hardly seemed to notice him. Maybe the Father was right—Monica did need all the help she could get.

But why?

What was wrong with her?

His body tensed when he heard the grass crunch behind him. Slowly, the angel of death turned his blond head to see the beautiful appearance of the Irish angel come forth. But her once cheery expression had faded with the morning. Now, her rosy face held a gloomy tone that clashed with her brown eyes.

There was a long moment of silence between the chirping of the bird's rain songs and the splashing of the water against the rocks. Andrew tried to lock eyes with her but for some reason didn't dare. There was something keeping them away from each other's inner feelings—some evil that did not want to be awakened. Finally, he got the courage and managed to speak.

"Monica?" he began. His voice trembled for a reason that he was not aware of. "Can I talk to you?" Monica straightened her posture and smiled. For the first time in that instant, their eyes locked. For a moment, the two angels just stared at each other, as if searching for something unknown. But then, Monica turned away.

"Of course," her lilt almost whispered.

"Well, I…I…just wanted to know…" He realized his approach seemed awkward and paused to think of the right word usage. "You see this morning—when I first came—you, well…you didn't seem that pleased to see me. Sam told me that I was going to be sent to help you. But for what reason, I cannot tell—unless you…" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind."

"Andrew," the Irish angel said. "What exactly are you trying to say?" Her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity. He hesitated, pondering her question in his mind.

"I'm trying to tell you that…you're not the same. I mean, you don't seem happy any more…"

"I know," she managed. "Ever since that day…" Then she realized that she had almost shared her feelings. She just couldn't do it. There was too much hurt involved. But Andrew was here now. Maybe it was time to spill out all her troubles. But what if he didn't care? He had cared in the past, though.

"What day, Monica? Do you mean…" he was cut off by her piercing Irish lilt.

"No, Andrew! Please don't," she cried, tears weighing her eyes down. "Please don't," she repeated. Her rosy cheeks were suddenly filled with sobs, and she threw her head in her hands. He hesitantly reached down and touched her back.

Perhaps this is the healing that needs to take place, he thought. Perhaps she needs to get out her emotions and feelings.

"Monica," he whispered. "I'm here, honey, I'm here." She slowly raised her head, revealing her tear-streaked face. The ends of her shoulder-length auburn hair were soaked. "Please tell me what's wrong. Please," he pleaded. "I'm here to help."

"Oh, Andrew," Monica sobbed and cried into his shoulder. He soothed her hair and rested his chin on her head. "I'm so lonely." At the sound of those words, his heart almost broke.

Lonely? Was she really lonely?

"But you have me here, and if not, there's your charge and God is always with you too, Angel Girl," he comforted. He tried his hardest not to let a tear fall from his emerald green eyes. He had to be brave for her.

"Angel Girl?" she asked in surprise, raising her head from his shoulder. "No one has called me that in years," she mused. Andrew could see more tears form in her eyes. "The more I think about that, the more Tess flows into my mind. Oh, Andrew," she cried.

"Why don't we go back to the tent, Monica. I think you need some rest," the angel of death suggested. "And maybe after you've taken a nap, you can tell me all that's been happening lately. I'm interested to hear about your charge—Rose is it?"

"Yes," Monica sighed. "She's all alone now. This will be the first time she's done an assignment without me. I hope she does okay." The Irish angel sniffed and wiped her nose.

"I'm sure she will, honey. She'll be just fine," the blond angel encouraged. "The Father will take care of her."

******

Monica could vaguely remember being carried into the tent. Now, as she struggled to see, her eyes hardly made out Andrew's handsome figure.

"Hey, Angel Girl. Good morning," Andrew's kind voice joked. She felt him reach down and touch her cheek. "You okay? It's already three and you've been sleeping for two hours!"

"Sorry," she mumbled. "You know that you could've woke me up," her lilt croaked.

"Nah," he stated. "You need your sleep. Let's say we go into town for a while. I've been interested in checking out some shops there. And I hear that they serve great coffee."

"Sure. But I don't need any coffee," Monica said in between a yawn and a stretch. For a second, Andrew's mouth literally dropped open.

"No coffee," he mimicked. "Wow! Now if that ain't a first, I don't know what is. Monica without coffee…" He shook his head and smiled. "Now I never thought I'd hear that!"

"Oh, Andrew," Monica sighed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "But how are we going to get there. It's a pretty long way into town," she reminded him.

"What about Tess'…I mean your car," Andrew asked, biting his lip and gritting his teeth. He wanted to scold himself. Would Monica be upset?

"Rose has it," Monica said slowly, pondering Andrew's mistake in her head.

"You trust her with it, Angel Girl?" the angel of death asked his friend, a grin playing his face. "Tess sure got nervous," he said purposely, emphasizing their old supervisor's name. Andrew wanted the Irish angel to talk about what was on her mind. He had a hint that it had to do with Tess and the day three years ago.

Monica stood up and zipped up her sleeping bag, ignoring Andrew's comment. She opened the door and stepped into the warm afternoon. Her brown eyes searched the woods apprehensively.

"Monica," Andrew whispered, following her out of the tent. He stopped right at her heels and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Maybe it's time to talk."

Those were the words she least wanted to hear. She couldn't bear to talk. Any mention of a name or place or even that day brought pain to her heavy heart. And as the seconds ticked by, her heart's burden grew heavier yet. How much more could she possibly take?

"All right," her Irish lilt managed. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What's on your mind—what's been bugging you." The angel of death bit his lip and wondered if she would run off or lock eyes with him and spill out everything.

"Well, I can tell you what's bugging me right now," she began with an upset lilt. "The fact that every time I have a sad expression, my head hangs down, every time my eyes wander, someone asks me constantly 'what's wrong'. Constantly, Andrew," Monica said, sincerity ringing in her tone. "Each time the Father sees my heart is troubled, he has to send someone. First Rose tried to cheer me up, then Sam came, and now you. I thought you would be a little more understanding and give me my space, but you turned out to be just like the rest. And I'm sorry to say this Andrew, but I don't like you hanging on my every move. If I wanted to talk, I would and you wouldn't have to ask me!"

With that, Monica started walking down the trail that led to town. Her pace quickened when she realized that Andrew was running after her. She kept her arms crossed the whole way, not even attempting to look back. She let out a small squeal when something moved by her feet and looked down. A rattlesnake slithered around her, encircling her every move.

She started to run.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a dark object stood up out of the ground and interfered with her haste. She fell to the ground and let the force of the fall plant her cheek into the damp dirt. As fast as she dared, she turned her head back and saw the root sticking up, the rattlesnake slithering right by it. That fall had been no accident.

"Monica, Monica," a shady voice laughed. "What a pleasure surprise." There, in front of her, stood a dark figure that emerged from the shadow of a pine tree. Her appearance matched that of Monica's, but a dark light laminated her thin figure.

"I'm so sure," the Irish angel scoffed. "It's never a pleasure, Monique."

"But this time it is, honey. Believe me," Monique said with a hair-raising laugh.

"Why do you say that?" Monica asked, pushing herself up and rubbing her head. Her auburn hair was coated with mud and entangled with twigs and leaves.

"You want to stop the pain?" Monique snickered. "Well, honey, I've got a great way to."