Chapter 9

"…Thirteen-year-old female, hit and run accident, excessive blood-loss, possible internal bleeding as well…" One of the assistant surgeons rambled on urgently as an entire team of experienced doctors rushed Eliza into the OR on a stretcher for emergency surgery, though the supposedly crucial information seemed meaningless to the ones who loved the child most, as they stood, numb with steaming emotion in the emergency room, witnessing their beloved Eliza being wheeled further and further away from them, an oxygen mask being held firmly over her nose and mouth and countless surgeons hastily calculating what needed to be done.

As Monica's vision instantly and completely blurred over with blinding tears, she forced her burning eyes as tightly closed as they possibly could as she turned almost subconsciously and fell onto Andrew's chest, giving him her full weight (which wasn't much) and her heart as well as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shirt, allowing him to support her both physically and emotionally as he had been more than glad to do on so many occasions before. Encircling her back tightly in both of his strong, consoling arms, Andrew felt as though his heart might burst for her as he closed his eyes as tightly as hers and kissed the top of her head in some, wavering attempt to comfort her.

For the umpteenth time since he had met her, all he wanted to do for her was to take the pain away, and that seemed to be the one thing he couldn't do for her. He loved her so much. He loved her more than his own life, as he had proved once before when he took that bullet in her place, but now, as he rested his cheek atop her head, he remembered for the billionth time, the night Eliza was born. He remembered lovingly dabbing the sweat from his friend's forehead as she labored through the excruciating pain of the delivery. He remembered her screams. And most of all he remembered this feeling. This helpless, by-standing feeling of powerlessness. The powerlessness of being unable to help her.

That night he vowed that he would never stand by and let her go through something like that again while he felt that impossibly strong love for her and knew that something could've been done to help her. And that was the proving reason why he had died for her five years ago. He was willing to do anything, everything in his power to protect her and relieve of any and all anguish she currently felt.

But it was then that they realized they both may be equally powerless to save that little girl, for a third celestial prescence could suddenly be felt in the room. A presence that probably should have brought peace and tenderness to their hearts but instead struck fear and dread inside of them. It was the undeniable presence of another Angel of Death. Adam had come and, judging by the expression upon his normally, charming, wise-cracking face, he hadn't come for the simple purpose of seeing how they were doing.

Finally drawing back from Andrew's tight embrace and turning to face her old friend, Monica was suddenly overwhelmed with the awareness of her heart shattering to pieces in her chest, wracking sobs still escaping her slender frame, only they seemed to multiply themselves by a hundred-thousand now as she looked upon the confirmation of the fate her daughter was no doubt about to meet.

Feeling the horrible, distressing emotion rise like boiling water in her throat, Monica immediately raced forward and caught the other Angel of Death by the arm as he turned to enter the OR. "NO! Adam, please! Don't! You can't!" She screamed as loudly as she could without attracting too much attention from everyone else in the room. Taking both of his hands in hers, she stared up into his returning eyes with such pleading urgency in her gaze that he was forced to study the floor under his feet instead. He couldn't even bear to look at her. But, no matter how difficult this may be, he felt the obligation to deny her this desperate plea. He had never intentionally hurt Monica before. He had never hurt her at all in fact, but there was nothing to be done and he was forced to tell her the truth.

"Monica please, don't make this any harder than it has to be." He begged her in a voice barely audible as he eventually raised his eyes to meet hers, pain and regret reflected in them like flames over water. "There's nothing I can do." He reasoned sadly, trying every and any way to make her understand. But she seemed to refuse to understand. Eliza was her daughter and, even though she knew full well what the truth was about the job of an Angel of Death, she felt that at the moment she would do everything in her power to keep Adam from entering that OR. How could he do this? How could he do this to her?

But before she could say anything further, Andrew took the initiative to approach the two from where he stood a little further back. He was an Angel of Death himself and he wasn't about to just stand by and watch as Monica did her best to convince her friend not to do his job. Andrew had that job and he knew that if anyone could help her sway Adam, it would be him.

"Adam, come on. Please. Help her out here. I'm asking you for a favor." He held his old friend's gaze with such seriousness that for one, brief, concerning moment, Adam's conscience wavered and he nearly prepared himself to break the rules just once. But he didn't. He couldn't. What had to be done, had to be done. There was no alternative. If God wanted her, then so be it. After all, Eliza was His gift to Monica and she was truly His child. After a moment, Adam had still said nothing and only blinked back at Andrew in obvious knowledge that his colleague should've known better. Andrew got the message and took a step back, his expression sorrowful and his heart heavy. This wasn't his choice nor Adam's. It was God's. And so it wasn't Andrew's place to try and stop him.

But Monica wasn't about to give up so easily. She held firm on her old friend's arm and continued her last, desperate attempt to stop him. She just had to. "Adam, please. I'm begging you. I love my little girl more than the world itself. More than my own life. Please. With all my heart I need you to turn around and walk out that door right now." She begged despairingly, hoping that in some, strange way, he would be able to change the rules just once. But he didn't. He couldn't. And Monica had known that from the start, she just could never face it. And before she could say or do anything else, Andrew pushed back the heartbreaking pain inside of him and stepped forward, knowing he had to do the right thing…for everyone. It pained him to no end to do such a thing and he was sure he felt his own heart break over and over again inside of him as he took Monica by the arm and, as gently and compassionately as he could, he pulled her back toward him and out of Adam's way. Just this small gesture nearly killed him as tears rolled over his handsome features and he denied every instinct he had, tightening his grip on his struggling friend's arm as she fought with all her might to pull away.

He had never been more sorry for anything he had ever done as he ignored her efforts, knowing that he was more than capable of lifting her over his head if he wanted to. But he didn't. It would seem so simple as to just restrain her, but it was the most difficult thing he could've ever remembered doing.

"No! Andrew! Please!" She cried out in vain as Andrew forced himself to ignore her and replaced any instinct he felt to free her with tears. Adam nodded gratefully in Andrew's direction, though his expression still did not change. With one last, horribly sympathetic glance into Monica's pleading eyes, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the OR. He was briefly followed by Monica's pain-filled cries of desperation, but he too, ignored his love for his friend and continued on, out of sight.

It was then that Andrew allowed his own emotions to cave and he began to turn Monica by the shoulder to face him once more, but it was clear that she no longer wanted anything to do with him. She drew back from him immediately with all the strength in her body, tearing herself from his arms and stepping back several feet. Again, Andrew's capability returned to his mind, but he released her instantly, willing now to grant her anything she wanted. Anything in the entire world. But the look on her face broke his heart right then and there when she stood back, facing him. The look in her eyes. She hated him. For the first time since they had met, so many years back, she hated him.

Not a word escaped her lips and yet, Andrew was well aware of what she felt as she glared tearfully back at him. It was just in that, heart-wrenching moment that the two of them suddenly felt as though the rest of the world around them no longer existed. As though the expectant silence now shared between them was the only sensation in the entire universe. Andrew was sure millions could hear his own heartbeat for miles around. But he couldn't hear hers. Not a chance now. The connection was broken. The binding of unimaginable love that held them together had frayed. It was far too much for Andrew to bear.

"Monica, I'm sorry, I…" But he was cut off as Monica shook her head angrily as continued tears fell over her angelic features. She wouldn't hear it. It was then that she forgot everything. She forgot the day they met. Their first dance. She forgot how unbearable it felt to lose him to a gunfight and she forgot what it felt like when he returned. She forgot how much she had missed him and she forgot what they had shared together only the night before. She wasn't considering any of it now. She was blind with pain and anguish. At the moment she never wanted to see him again.

"Andrew, don't. Just…just stay away from me." She commanded with such hatred reflected in her normally cheerful Irish lilt that it actually frightened the Angel of Death. The tone in her voice told him that she would never love him again and that frightened him more than the devil itself. He wasn't giving up that easily. He pushed down the pain of her request and ignored it completely, stepping forward and resting his hands on her shoulders to try to emphasize his point. "Monica, I love you so much. I love you…" but he was cut off once again as she attempted to struggle away from him once more, clearly unwilling to listen to anything he had to say now. "No Andrew. Just get away from me! If she dies Andrew… don't touch me!" She made one more attempt to wrench free, but this time he used his strength. He held fast like a child attempting to hold onto a wriggling kitten. But this was much worse than that. Everything seemed to happen so quickly after that that he never could've prepared himself for it.

"Monica please, just…" The slap struck him across the face like a painful bolt of lightning straight to the heart. He felt as though he had been shot a second time, or rather he wished he had. Even that would've felt better than this. Anything would've felt better than this For a moment he prayed it wasn't real. It couldn't have been. But as he reopened his eyes once again and turned his head to look back at her, he knew it was true. Her eyes said it all and, as he released her with both hands, he felt the tears steam down his as though they were sent exactly for the purpose of soothing such a blow from someone he loved so much.

Monica didn't look sorry at all for what she'd done though, as she stared back at him spitefully for only a brief moment before turning and racing over to one of the plastic waiting chairs, throwing herself into it as though it were Andrew's arms just a moment before. There she rested her elbows on her knees, sobbing relentlessly into one hand, which supported her forehead while the other rested across her legs. Andrew didn't move. He couldn't. If she didn't love him anymore than he might as well have been dead.

But behind those heavy doors in the OR, Eliza was fighting a very different battle. Her heart rate was plummeting as the surgeons hastened to improve her condition in any way they possibly could. But, as though deaf to their efforts, the young girl's pulse continued to drop, while Adam stood, unseen, next to her head, a tender, gentle hand stroking her red-gold hair affectionately. "Eliza, I don't want to take you home today. I want you to fight okay? Try as hard as you can." But still, as though his words had had no such effect, her condition worsened.

All too suddenly, the dreadful sound of every doctor's nightmares could be heard throughout the OR. The even, life-confirming beeps of the heart monitor were suddenly replaced by one, flat, consistent tone. Every surgeon in the room took immediate attention and focused their efforts on reviving her. Several shouted commands and urgent orders could be heard from the head surgeon as he placed two of the electric chargers over the teenager's chest and called his instructions. "Charge to ten!" He called and the request was repeated by one of the assistants. "Clear!" The electric field coursed through the girl's small frame, and, though her heart rate skyrocketed momentarily, it continued on afterwards in one, flat continuous tone. "Charge to twenty!" Again the repeated request. "Clear!"