Author's note: First of all, I would like to apologize to everyone for the delay on this chapter, but I promise I won't disappoint with the rest of the story, and I'm working as hard as I can, so stay tuned, okay? I'd also like to thank everyone for being so patient and hope you're still out there reading even though I've been a bit slow with my chapters.
Chapter 8
Monica's living breath froze cold in her throat and she felt she dared not move for fear of it all being true. Her glassy, fearful gaze met Andrew's across the room and the Angel of Death bore an equally dreadful expression as he forced himself to draw in a deep, cleansing breath and compose his rapidly scattering thoughts. But Monica was far from calming herself as she stood there in obvious disbelief of the sound she was sure she had just heard. It couldn't be true. She didn't just hear that. She couldn't have. But as she stood as still as stone there in the apartment, there was a part of her that knew it was true. There was a part of her that knew what had happened, and a single, frightened tear found its way down over her pretty features.
"Oh no." She breathed in a quiet voice barely audible as a second tear trickled from her other eye and she gazed, unblinking, across the room at Andrew, who said nothing still and only stared back. For just a moment, time itself seemed to be suspended on the brink of a new moment, when the dreadful thought of what had just occurred down on the street threatened reality. But that moment only lasted a brief second before Monica – hastily followed by Andrew – raced from the apartment as quickly as her human legs would carry her down the few floors of stairs and out onto the street.
Of course, the sight their eyes fell upon was more than horrifying, for it confirmed their suspicions and dreads and it caused a torrential downpour of tears to spill over Monica's face as she rushed across the road and dropped to her knees at her fallen daughter's side. Eliza lay on her back on the pavement, clearly unconscious with rivers of blood pouring from the side of her head and several other horribly injured spots on her petite body.
The car that had hit her head on rested, smoking, with its nose crumpled against a street-side telephone pole and the driver's side door agape to the world, as if confirming certainly that the coward of a driver had transformed the ordeal into a hit and run felony, only causing both Monica and Andrew's emotions to overload with all anger, sadness, fear and dread. Of course, there was no question as to who had done this. It was obvious enough that Monica's daughter had been hit by a drunk driver, judging by the sloppy, winding tire skid marks on the street pavement leading up to the accident. Andrew had seen that sort of thing uncountable times before. And it was just as clear who that drunk driver had been. Of course, Monica was more concerned with her daughter's well-being rather than who had brought the harm to her.
"Oh God. Eliza! Eliza, please tell me you're all right. Please. Oh God, help us." Monica pleaded in a choked voice as salt water continued to stream down her pretty face and she grasped her injured daughter's shoulders with both hands, clearly desperately searching for any sign, any at all, that she was at least alive. She could never bear the thought of losing her precious child again, after all they had been through and so much time had passed. It couldn't happen. It just couldn't. All too suddenly, brief, but emotional flashbacks were zipping through her head, of everything. Of the night Eliza was born, when Andrew had been standing at her side, holding her hand the moment her daughter had come into this world. Of holding Eliza for the first time as a tiny infant in her loving arms. Of the day Eliza returned to her as an eight-year-old and hadn't seen her for all those past years and the way Monica had lifted her into those same, loving arms, allowing the tears of gratefulness to flow that her daughter had finally come back to her. Of the time she had been kidnapped by demons and the moment Monica had rescued her with nothing but the love of a mother aiding her. And she even recalled that morning not too many days ago when she and Eliza had been conversing happily in the kitchen of their assignment house with a cup of coffee each in hand.
Andrew knelt on one knee next to Monica and scanned the wounded teen with those loving, caring blue-green eyes of his. Neither he nor Monica seemed to be able to note any signal what so ever that Eliza was even still breathing. The Angel of Death instantly felt the tightness of tears in his throat and he felt as though his heart had been pierced once again with that same evil bullet as Monica's heart-felt, painful cry of dread drifted over to him. It struck an even deeper cord within him that caused the tears to overflow. Recognition glimmered across his glassy eyes, for it was that same cry. That same cry he recalled the instant before he passed over all those years ago. He would've recognized it anywhere. His dearest friend's helpless, sorrowful exclamation of grief as she powerlessly witnessed someone she loved with all her heart slowly slipping away from her.
It was too unbearable a second time and, without another passing moment, Andrew bent low over his best friend's daughter and gathered her petite frame up into his arms as he recalled doing a few times before with Monica herself. He simply wasn't going to let her experience another loss such as that. He couldn't let Eliza die. He wouldn't.
Rising back to his feet, he finally managed a glance upward at Monica, connecting his teary glaze with hers at last. And in those deep brown eyes, Andrew caught sight of something that caused his heart to contract painfully in his chest. Something familiar and heartbreaking. Something he recalled seeing an uncountable number of times over the past thirteen years. Pain. Pain so deep and so true that, without any words spoken between them, Andrew knew exactly what she was trying to get across to him. She was begging him with all her heart not to let her little girl be torn away from her as he had been. And he responded to such a gaze immediately.
"We have to get her to a hospital." He stated solemnly as he still maintained the steady gaze with Monica, counting every tear as they trickled abundantly over her beautiful features. It was then that he chose he would assure her of his persistence, hoping that in some way it would bring her some form of slight peace. "I won't let anything happen to her Monica. I promise."