Had sort of a writer's block, but now I'm back with a new chapter, again having Anthony's POV.

Chapter 16: A way out

He stumbled down the stairs, he almost fell, but with each step that brought him further away his pace became steadier. Fleeing from the situation he could not bear. He hated himself for this weakness - for running. That was the part he had disliked about the Knox-assignment from the beginning. At least there had been purpose behind it.

This served nothing, he simply had not been able to do what he meant to. He was ill-equipped to explain himself to a furious angel, unable to get his side across as his feelings tore him inside out. He mostly hated himself for those ridiculous and illogical emotions, like this anger toward Dylan. He had giver her every reason to believe he was capable of executing each and every one without hesitation. How could he hold it against her that she jumped to the wrong conclusion?

Nothing was gained by that, he just needed to tell her - or more likely - to write down an explanation. Still he felt to shaken from the other impressions that had struck him. There was this emptiness in him, a black hole that seemed to swallow him, ever since she had pushed him away and gave him that look. Not unlike bleeding to death, but more enduring and thus much more painful. He had taken another stab through his heart any minute.

He walked past several blocks before he leaned against a wall and drew out a cigarette. He had not really the appetite or the need for one, it was out of habit, as if focusing on inhaling the unhealthy stuff did make any difference. He still hurt and part of him was more afraid than ever to face the angel again. Another side of him wanted to run, to go where he never met her or any of his colleagues again. Another voice told him to go in there and make his point, regardless how disturbing the outcome might be.

He began to look at the people. Before he only put them in categories of harmless or potential disturbance or even as a thread - like the angels after their first meeting. Now he found himself observed more accurately. An old woman, probably of Hispanic origin, overweighed carrying heavy shopping bags. The most dreadful thing about this appearance was not the battered clothing, the way she slightly limped or shuffled the other foot over the pavement. She had this expression of utter unhappiness on her face and he began to wonder were it came from.

People passed him some taking a short look before turning from his cold stare other just hushed past without even nothing. Some looked happy others did not. How did they deal when fascinated with a certain person? Had they a better chance of dealing with the results than he? He always had felt that he was the wolf and they are the sheep, but right now he felt like an old, toothless lion surrounded by an army of rats. All of them seemed to carry on with their life, no matter how beaten down they appeared to be.

They were able to adapt, to survive and he was stagnating and only alive because he was cursed, cursed to come back from the grave. He threw his cigarette down and stepped on the faintly glowing stump. That very moment a ball hit him and bounced back. He flung around and saw a grinning pale boy of fourteen that caught the basketball. Whether it was his reaction or not, he could not say. The boy turned followed by three other kids in various ages who gave him an admiring look.

He had no idea what this was about, especially because withdrawing the kids spoke with an heavy accent, but they seemed to have done this on purpose. This place was definitely to overcrowded. Looking at the signs he realised that he had past almost ten blocks. From here it was not far to the city, he decided to take the next bus and stop by at the hospital. Maybe Dylan would be more eager to read out what he was going to write her, if he could tell her that her friend was alive and that he had been close enough to harm her. That should convince her that he had nothing to do with this attack.

As the bus driver asked him where he was going to, he realised his notepad was gone. Nervously he looked around. "You need to tell me how far you are going", the driver repeated a bit louder than the second time. Instead of an answer he tipped again on the ten dollar bill he had laid before the driver.

"Well, either you get out or I charge till the final station", the man said unhappy to him, but he nodded approvingly and finally he had his ticket and could pass. Maybe it would have been easier to get back to his car. With relief he entered half an hour later the hospital. He checked out intensive care and was nearly caught by Max who just came around the corner. Unseen he followed the boy who's face was full of grief.

He carefully looked through he window in the door after the former orphan had entered a room. He and his new brother sat besides the Asian Angels bed. It was impossible not to feel sorry for the woman, one leg was bound high with metal sticks poked in, while the other one had a heavy plaster around it and rested on a pillow. Her head was also fixed and a plastered arm laid above the white blanket that covered her.

The black man talked almost non-stop about the most trivial things. He wondered if that really helped one, but what would he knew about this. At least the woman was alive - he headed down to the hospital gift shop. He needed a new writing pad or at least something else to write on. There were a lot of colourful and cheery pens and little pads with equally childish design.

He choose the least annoying one as he passed chart with lots of gift cards. He was drawn immediately to the elegance of those plain black and white ones, but those where all cards to express condolences. He browsed through a couple of that were under miscellaneous and decided finally for one that had large red roses and a short poem of Lessing* on the front.

"Yesterday I loved,

Today I hurt,

tomorrow I die.

Yet I like to think

today and tomorrow

about yesterday."

Unsure why this card appealed to him, he laid all on the counter and got it packed in a small paper bag with the logo of the shop in front of it. He paid and left for a small café opposite the bus stop. He opened the pad and wrote down - coffee black. Then he held it out to the waitress that came to ask him for his order.

He looked at the card, he had it all behind him in one day, but still he liked to remember it or more likely that kiss. 'One more time', he thought and sighed. How should he start. He wrote on the pad, a hundred starts and two hundreds words crossed out. This was taking time. Finally he felt up to writing it on the card, but then he decided against it, maybe there was a more suitable content for this card, a topic that was not so blue.

He had explained her that he had seen the event, but had not been able to interfere, that he Alex seemed to be stable and in competent care. That he knew she did not approve, but he rather live with that, than watch her die. Of course there was more to say, but he just could not describe his feelings. He might have if he had felt any hope there were not rejected. He left another ten dollar bill and five extra for his three cups of coffee and left.

Returning to his street side, he put the card inside his Venturi and walked towards the building he lived beneath. He considered going into his flat, but with the short walk from the bus stop he felt fresh and strong. He took the stairs and head for the safe apartment, where he had secured his angel. If he had not been so nervous he might have noticed that someone has tempered with the lock.

He stepped into the room and the moment he turned towards his guest he heard the sound of a bullet fired through a silencer. He just had enough time to open his eyes wide, then the small piece of metal tore through his chest. He heard the next shot that came from the gun in the hand of the black woman that stood where the angel had been as he had entered before. Her sweet face was a mask that showed no sign of emotion except contempt. It was the last thing before the world went black once more.

He was sure of one thing he would never get used to dying. Maybe this state, being helpless and disconnected from all that could distract him from his inner self, was hell. He only spent weeks in it, what a horror must it be to remain here for all eternity. After he got used to being trapped inside his mind, he felt a horrible thought climbing to the surface. Was that woman his replacement? That probably meant his angel was already dead. They could not be informed so fast about his intentions.

Or could have been the fact that he rescued her from the O'Grady's, but nobody would know that it was him. He cursed at him self. He had left a witness, her passing out has given him a reason to act unprofessionally. Yet it seemed unlikely that the information would leek out so swiftly to his employer. He only hoped he would awaken sooner than the last time. Considering the fast recovery after his fall from the bridge and what his body had suffered according to his autopsy and later the preparation for the funeral, he hoped to be back in a matter of hours.

At least it seemed unlikely that this woman would call the police. He was right. He woke up as he had fallen. Blood was in the carpet and in his suit. The thin, white stripes had an ugly brown colour, but his body was completely healed and more important no sign of Dylan or her blood. Still it meant she must have escaped before the black woman came here. He could not imagine that the angel kept such company.

He would find her, but first he had to get cleaned up and put on a new suit. He walked down the stairs. Her entering this conflict worried him, but as much as he was concerned by her skill, he simply had to admire it. No long talk, just getting the job done and then going on. He used to work that way, too. He gasped in shock as he saw his front door. Who would murder his contact in such a monstrous fashion?

The woman must have suffered terribly, but it could only mean that there was already someone send to succeed him. He stepped closer. Her body was still warm. He ran up to the street looked around, but it seemed that no one had seen anything or if he had he just hurried on. An old man saw him in his ragged, bloody suit. He knew he had not much time left, before the police would come around.

He carefully opened the door and rushed into his apartment. Someone had examined his belongings. It did not matter right now. Taking out the pad with his carefully written message, he saw it was all ruined due to the blood. He opened the oven and tossed it inside. Then he began to tore his jacket and shirt from his chest and stuffed it in the fire which instantly burned higher. He closed the latch and went to the bath room.

Where he cleaned himself from the stains of blood that were on his chest and back. His trousers seemed to have been soaked a bit also, but he had no time for a change. He just got a new white shirt and put on his black leather coat. A suitcase was quickly filled with a couple of suits, underwear, socks and a few other outfits and smaller weapons . He grabbed his spare canes and left the place that had been his hideout for several years.

He put both in the back and just as he drove off the police drove down the street. That was just in time he thought. He looked at the place in the mirror. He would get his replacement and kill him. It was unprofessional and unnecessary to murder that poor woman. She had no idea what she was telling him to do. She was a messenger nothing more. He had liked her, he realised. She was part of his world and yet she belonged still to those who lead a normal life far away from death.

Another thought that worried him was what this butcher might do to his angel. He went right down to the agency, it seemed quite her, nobody was observing the house. He checked the cars in the back, only one car was on the lot and it had a Washington D.C. plate on it. He had seen this before, but he was not sure where. The angels were obviously not here, where would they go?

The answer was obvious, but he needed to few seconds before he got there. Naturally Dylan would check on Alex, so he drove off to the hospital. He was looking for a free parking space as he saw the blonde angel and Max hurrying down the stairs that lead to this parking lot. He quickly pulled the car into the next place - which was actually reserved for disabled people. The woman was too busy getting her keys out of her handkerchief filled bag, their car was so close to his, he almost did not dare to let the window down.

"Calm down", Max said. "Or you never find it."

"Yes", Natalie replied. "I'm just nervous and worried. Dylan is really not herself. That whole Thin Man business hit her pretty hard and than the attack on Alex. Well, I should probably be glad that she is locked up for now", she sighed and pulled out the key. They both got in her car and the last bit of conversation he heard was Max saying. "I just hope they let her out - with those charges - I mean hiring a killer …"

Dylan hiring a killer, that was ridiculous. He frowned - did she sent the black woman after him? He shook his head, she would never. There was only one way to find out what was behind all this. He followed the two of them who where heading right to the Police Station. He parked a street ahead and saw the two entering the last place in the world where he should show his head right now.

With growing impatience he waited more than half an hour as the two came back. He used the shadows to get near them. Fortunately they left alongside the building and not for the open space in front of it.

"That is really hard stuff, Mom, will never let me or Bosley near you when she hears with what kinds of psychos you are working", Max told her. The blond angel was not replying, her left hand firmly pressed on her belly. The boy continued: "But it is scary, I mean, it seems he really comes back from the dead quite often. Well, we better keep that to our selves or Aurelie goes right after him once more. ---- Natalie?"

The woman clutched Max arm with her right hand and turned to vomit into the bushes that had been planted to enrich the buildings front. Max helped her up and guided her to a bench that stood nearby.

"Sorry Max, this pregnancy thing is", she moaned. "I could deal with morning sickness, but right now I have brunch-, midday-, afternoon-, evening- and night-sickness also. But I guess that passes. Funny thing - you know when I told Charlie that I am going to quit, he told me that a friend of his had a really talented young girl on his hand …"

"Aurelie?", Max said surprised.

"Yeah, he thought that I could work her in, a soon as her new case was solved - you know this case. What ever reasons she had, nobody who puts four bullets to someone's heart is fit to be an angel."

"That's not all you are upset about", Max said as Natalie paused a moment.

"Dylan has already a hard time and she did not only committed a cold blooded murder, she hurt Dylan and brought her in this situation. It would have already been tough, but now her lawyer has to explain why she did not turned herself in, if she is as innocent as she claims. Plus she really believes that it is Anthony and not some doppelganger. I'm still not saying it is him, but she so desperately wants to believe it."

The angel shook her head and bent over the bench as a result and decorated the next bush with the remainders in her stomach. "Damn it", she said sadly. "The whole agency is falling apart. Charlie's reputation already suffered and if we are giving the police all facts, Dr. Crushner's chances are even lower and loosing the case - it only make things worse. Than this other murder, the woman that nearly killed Alex - The Thin Man. I honestly don't know where I should look."

Max said trying to sound more grown up: "You know I have an idea. Why don't you get me a room at the Hilton Plaza, I could keep an eye on Dr. Sattler. See who she meets - she does not know about me."

"Out of the question, we don't know how much she knows - how far her contacts reach - she already has the plans of the office!", Nat replied.

"But Dylan said, if we stop her, we might stop her whatever killers she sent our way."

"No, the answer is no", Natalie said and rose. "I better get you home."

Max got up a disappointed look on his face. He nodded, the angels still took care of him. He backed off and left the blonde girl alone, who wanted nothing more than to take Pete in her arms, cuddle with Spike and spend the night a heating blanket under her sheets. In this state she was not of any value. "Tomorrow we get Dylan out and then we take care of that Sattler-woman", he heard her saying before he had left their earshot.

That was it, that was his way out. He made it back to his car and drove off to pay a visit to his former employer. She might not know who was on the pay roll right now, but she would not call another replacement in - that was sure. All that was then left to do was putting his successor out of the game.

* My own translation of the poem by Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, here the original: "Gestern liebt' ich, Heute leid' ich, Morgen sterb' ich. Dennoch denk' ich, heut' und morgen, gern an gestern." - I know it is unlikely they do have it on a card in an American hospital, but it's not impossible and I do not know much poetry in English or German.