~~~**~~~

Chapter 2: An Old Friend

Blackness. Then vibrant colors. Reds and blues clashed to create pale orange. Yellow and green made pink. Images of homeless people on the street begging for bread. Little children crying for their mothers. Rolex and Oakley venders pushed their knock-offs in tourists' faces. Masked men stalking a woman in an alley. Fear. A shivering faceless person sitting on a Central Park bench. A blind man walking the street. Druggies selling their soul to the devil. To their drug dealer. Whores and drag queens looking for a bed and an easy customer. Retarded people wandering the streets preaching the word of God. God. Death. Angel. AIDS. Roger, Mimi, and Collins. AZT. Not enough. Hospitals. White hospital sheets. Suffering-Death-Angel-film. Blackness.

Mark opened his eyes and blinked.

"I am *never* drinking again," he groaned, dragging himself out of bed. He staggered out into the living room and began searching desperately for Advil, wondering where everyone had gone and how he'd gotten from the couch into his bedroom. Suddenly, there were gleaming white lights on the Christmas tree. Mark covered his eyes and groaned. As the lights got brighter, Mark grew more concerned that Benny had slipped him something. The lights became so bright that he curled up on the couch and shielded his eyes.

"You okay, honey?" a soft familiar voice asked.

"Angel?" Mark gasped, staring open mouthed.

"Well who else would it be, you silly boy?" Angel replied, ruffling Mark's hair.

"You look beautiful."

"Why thank you, my dear," Angel said, blushing a bit. "That's what heaven does to you."

Mark, still in shock, watched Angel, who was wearing a white flapper dress, sparkly Go-Go boots, a diamond necklace, and a glowing halo over her head, prance around the room redecorating the tree.

"Dear me, this Christmas tree is pathetic." Said the exasperated Angel at last.

"Well. . .ummm. . .things haven't been so good lately," Mark said quietly.

"I kind of figured that," Angel said, wrapping her arm around Mark's shoulders. "It must be some pretty bad times to get Mark Cohen this drunk. So tell me. What's the trouble?"

"Oh, I don't know, Angel," Mark said dejectedly. "Everything's just so. . .wrong."

"Please, Marky, tell me." Angel pleaded, batting her eyelashes.

Mark went on to tell Angel about how he wasn't inspired to film anymore because the world was so cruel. He told him of Roger and Mimi and how they fought all the time and somehow he always got involved. He told of Benny's pushyness, Maureen and Joanne's constant break-ups and rebounds. And when Mark told Angel about Collins' desperate escape from reality, by immersing himself in work, Angel's deep brown eyes filled with tears and her mascara began to run.

"Oh, Angel, please don't cry." Mark pleaded, "I am just complaining—life isn't so terrible."

"Mark, I've been watching you all and you're right, life is terrible. I'm so sorry I left you all." Angel began to cry harder and her tears turned into sobs.

"Angel! You taught us all so  much. WE love you. We will always love you."

"You won't forget me?" Angel sniffled.

"Never. I hope they won't forget me now that I'm gone."

"Gone? What do you mean gone?"

"Well, I mean now that I'm dead-"

"Mark, sweetie!" Angel started to laugh as she ran her hands through her sparkly bleached blonde hair. "You aren't dead."

"But how—why?"

"Are you trying to ask me why I'm here?"

"I don't know!" Mark shouted in frustration.

"Well, Marky honey. . ."

Mark cringed at the use of his nickname, and Angel instantly looked apologetic.

"As you said yourself, times have been rough lately, and I thought it might help you if I showed you how to find the Christmas cheer in it."

Mark looked skeptical.

"Umm. . .thanks but. . .I don't think that's going to be possible."

But Angel just smiled.

"Oh, silly Marky, of course it's possible! Here, take my hand" Angel offered him a hand covered in white glitter that seemed to glow strangely.

Angel, are you sure I'm not dead. I think that I'd almost rather be."

"MARK! Don't you ever say that again! Look what happened when I died. Look what happened to all of you when I died. You are the glue of the group. You hold them all together. Don't you ever let me hear you say something like that again. Do you hear me?"

"Ok, ok!" Mark shot back

"Now take my hand and don't even think about putting on your pouty face. You know it doesn't work on me." Angel replied in her most superior tone.

Mark took Angel's hand timidly and suddenly remembered how smooth her skin always was and how warm it made him feel inside.

*WOOSH!!!!!!*

"I'm scared."

"You're a dummy, that's what you are."

Mark blinked hard until his vision came into focus on two little blond boys sitting on a swing set.

"It's-It's me!" Mark marveled to Angel, who he suddenly found standing next to him. "And Roger! In. . .preschool."

Angel just nodded and smiled.

"But it's creepy." The five-year old Roger insisted.

"What is?"

"A man who can see you all the time. And know everything about you. Come on Marky, admit it. You're scared too."

Mark cringed, remembering how very early his nickname had first started.

"I'm not scared, you dummy. There's no Santa and you know it."

Roger looked at Mark skeptically.

"You sure?"

"'course I'm sure."

Preschool Roger breathed a sigh of relief.

Mark looked at Angel and laughed.

"Wow, we were a couple of dorks, weren't we."

So does this mean that I don't have to be good anymore because Santa doesn't exist?" asked Roger, his eyes starting to well up with tears

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean." Marky said triumphantly. "That's another good thing about being Jewish. WE"RE not being LIED TO. So NAH!" Mark said, sticking out his tongue

Roger began to sniffle discreetly. His sniffles then turned into tears, which turned into racking sobs

" Wait, why are you crying? A couple of minutes ago you sounded happy that there was no Santa." Mark pouted

"I was only happy because then no one would have known that I was the one who pulled the fire alarm yesterday." Roger sobbed

"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO PULLED THE FIRE ALARM??" Mark shouted jumping out of his swing

"I…I…I thought it was a light switch…" Roger confessed

"Ooooooo Roger… you are gonna be in SOOOO much trouble when I tell your mommy!" said Mark, who was grinning from ear to ear

"NO! Don't! She will give me coal for Christmas and I won't get those guitar lessons that were promised to me if I was a good boy!" Roger pleaded jumping out of his swing and getting down on his knees

"You are pathetic Rog." Marky said rolling his eyes "I won't tell her as long as you promise me ONE thing."

"What's that?" Roger asked, nervously.

 

"That you'll be in my new movie when I get the camera mommy bought me for Christmas."

 

"Umm...okay..." Roger agreed.

"Oh, don't make me relive this part. . ." Mark groaned. "Please, please don't make me relive this part."

"What, you mean you filming Roger dancing around in his underwear?" Angel asked, grinning.

"How'd you know that?" Mark was shocked.

"Mark, honey, I'm dead. I know everything about everyone now. But I won't make you relive it. Come on, let's go."

And with that, the scene vanished.

There was a moment of darkness in which Mark could feel a gentle wind blowing across his face. Then he found himself back in the loft, lying on the couch with Angel standing over him!

So that really wasn't a dream?" Mark asked with a yawn and a stretch

"No sweetie this is real and don't you fall back asleep!"

Angel smacked Mark on the shoulder and Mark swiftly rolled over and sat up.

"There's more then?" Mark asked sounding less than pleased

"Yes baby, you have a lot to see and learn." Angel replied taking Mark's cold hand in his own.

FLASH!

~~~**~~~

A/N: Oh, what will happen next? Hmm. . .I wonder. . .review and we shall tell you!