Chapter 4: You'll Come Around in the Morning

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There was darkness, and once again the rush of air, but this time it was icy cold and had an ominous, musty smell to it.

Mark found himself in the dark loft once again, but this time it was completely deserted.

The Christmas tree was gone. Cobwebs grew from the walls. Mark had the uneasy feeling that it hadn't been lived in in years.

An object in the corner caught his eye. Mark walked over to it and brushed off what must have been nearly an inch of debris. His heart stopped cold. It was Roger's guitar.

"A-Angel?" Mark stammered.

A dark hooded figure stepped out of the abandoned loft's doorway. Mark felt a chill go up his spine as he realized that the Angel he knew wouldn't be joining him. He was on his own this time. The Angel of Death beckoned the shivering filmmaker towards him. Mark stepped into the phantom, knowing that he wouldn't like anything he was going to be shown.

"I'm ready to see what the future holds for me." Said Mark.

The phantom nodded and lifted his pale, black polished fingernail and pointed towards where Roger and Mimi's room used to be.

Mark peered in the door and saw a mattress in the middle of the room. On either side of the so-called "bed" there were cardboard boxes. Inside the boxes were torn clothing and piles of used needles. The floor was littered with pill bottles. Mark picked up an empty bottle and read:

"Davis, Mimi," which was boldy printed on the faded label.

Mark turned to the Angel of Death.

"Are-are these-" Mark glanced back at the label just to be sure. "These are anti-depressants."

The angel just stared back. Mark shuddered slightly, swallowing down tears.

"And Roger. . .is he. . .dead?" Mark thought he saw the Angel shudder slightly, but maybe it was just the cold wind blowing in the open window. Mark knew instinctively that he was right. He glanced back at the pill bottle again.

"This says. . .they were married?"

Nothing.

Suddenly, images began to flash through Mark's mind.

A funeral. Roger's funeral. Mimi dressed in black. Rain, freezing rain. The sky dark and gray, slashed open by white lightning. The loft again. Needles. Smack. The bathroom. A straight razor. A note scrawled in Mimi's shaky hand.

"NOOOOO!" Mark jarred himself back to the present, his throat torn open by the scream.

The black Angel stood in front of him, as silent and composed as ever. The Angel reached out to him. Mark braced himself and took the cold gray hand.

Another rush of air, and Mark found himself in Collins' apartment. It, too, was dark and cold. But from the dishes in the sink and brown leather jacket thrown on the couch, Mark knew that it *was* still lived in.

Mark picked up an old, tattered journal that had been thrown on the couch.

December 25th

Mimi died last night. I think I've known since Roger's death she didn't have much time left. She went back to using the next day. Just destroyed herself. It was like she had nothing left to live for. I don't think anyone was really surprised when we found her in that bathroom. It's ironic that she died on Christmas Eve. I guess maybe it was because Roger wasn't here to bring her back this time.

Mark flipped back the pages with a shaky hand.

November 9th

I can't handle it anymore. I cannot support this group of people by myself. Now that Angel and Mark are gone-

Mark's head shot up and he looked at the ghost with a pleading glance. The phantom shook its head and gestured back to the journal.

The weight on my heart is too heavy. I don't understand. Why did Mark move back to Scarsdale?

"SCARSDALE! I would never go back there! Why would I-?"

The hooded Angel shook its head. Mark obeyed and kept reading.

I never thought that he would abandon us. I know that times were hard.

More images assaulted Mark.

Benny's Range Rover smashed. Maureen holding hands with the lady in rubber. Joanne drowning herself in a new case. Roger partying with the band-coming home with his eyes glazed over. Mimi confused and naïve. Collins and Mark picking up the pieces.

Mark shook his head and refocused on the journal.

I never thought he would leave us like that. I don't think he realized how much he meant to us.

Mark took off his glasses, wiped off the tears from the lens, and placed them back on his pale face. He read on:

December 15th

I am getting weaker. I have given up on the AZT. It's just stalling the inevitable. It's just prolonging death. Besides, no one goes to Life Support with me. It's hard to drag myself there with no motivation. Death is starting to cover me with a heavy blanket. The walls are closing in and my breathing is becoming more shallow. Oh, well, the sonner I die, the sooner I can escape reality.

Mark flipped to the very last entry in the journal, dreading what he would find.

December 27th

Mark died last week in Scarsdale. I had no idea until I got the funeral notice in the mail today, six days late. I wonder if anyone went. Probably just his family, since Maureen and Joanne moved to LA last year. I'm pretty much the last member of our sorry little group. And I'm sure even *i* don't have much time left.

Mark closed the journal with shaking hands and took a long, ragged breath. He turned to the Angel, who he would feel watching him under the dark cloak.

"Take me back."

The Angel nodded slowly and Mark found himself back in the deserted loft.

"No. . ." he groaned, "NO! I want to go back to the present! Angel, please?"

The Angel didn't respond, and Mark felt the tickling of an idea at the back of his mind begin to solidify itself into a complete thought.

"You're not Angel, are you?" he asked accusingly.

The figure shook its head.

"Who are you?" Mark felt his knees begin to buckle, and he grabbed onto the couch for support. "Please tell me."

The figure lowered its cloak, revealing a face all too familiar to Mark. Bleached blond hair spiked up in all directions. High cheekbones hollowed out by months of sickness. Once clear brown eyes ringed with dark circles.

Mark gasped.

"Roger?"

He nodded, and pointed to the couch.

"Go back to sleep, Mark. You're bound to come around in the morning."

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::Ominous music:: How will the story end? Review and you will find out!