I don't own the characters or Kissed by an Angel. Well, here it is! –Cam

Tristan's POV:

It was dazzling: the eyes of the deer like a dark tunnel, the center of it bursting with light. Tristan braked and braked, but nothing would stop the rushing, nothing could keep him from speeding through the long funnel of darkness into an explosion of light.

For a moment he felt a tremendous weight, as if the trees and sky had collapsed on him. Then, with the explosions of light, the weight was lifted. Somehow he had gotten free.

She and the baby need you.

"Ivy! Baby!" he called out.

The darkness swirled in again, the road around him like a Twirl-a-paint, black spinning red, night swirling with the pulsing light of an ambulance.

They need you.

He did not hear it, but he understood it. Did the others? "Ivy! Where are Ivy and our baby? You have to help them!"

She was lying still. Bathed in red.

"Somebody help them! You've got to save them!"

But he could not hold on to the paramedic, could not even pull on his sleeve.

"No pulse," a woman said. "No chance."

"Help them!"

The swirling ran long and streaky now. Ribbons of light and dark rushed past him horizontally. Were they with him? The siren wailed: I-veee. I-veee.

Then he was in a square room. It was day there, or as bright as. People were rushing around. Hospital, he thought. Something was laid over his face, and the light was blocked out. He wasn't sure how long it was out.

Someone leaned over him. "Tristan." The voice broke.

"Dad?"

"Oh, my god, why did you let this happen?"

"Dad, where's Ivy and the baby? Are they okay?"

"My god, my god. My child!" his father said.

"Are they helping both if them?" His father did not speak. "Answer me, why don't you answer me?"

His father held my face. His father was leaning over him, tears falling down his face –

My face, Tristan thought with a jolt. That's my face. Oh no! What did I do?

And yet he was watching his dad and himself as if he were standing from himself.

"Mr. Carruthers, I'm sorry." A woman in a paramedic's uniform stood next to him and his father.

His father would not look at her. "Dead at the scene?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm sorry. We didn't have a chance with him."

Tristan felt the darkness coming over me again. He struggled to hold on to consciousness.

"And Ivy?" Dad asked.

"Cuts and bruises, in shock. Clutching her stomach. Calling for your son."

Tristan had to find her. He had to find out if she and the baby were going to be alright. He focused on a doorway, concentrated with all his strength, and passed through it. Then another, and another – he was feeling stronger now.

Tristan hurried down the corridor. People kept coming at him. He dodged left and right. He seemed to be going so much faster then they were, and none of them bothered to move out of his way.

A nurse was coming down the hall. He stopped to ask her help in finding Ivy, but she walked past him. He turned a corner and found himself facing a cart loaded with linens. Then he faced the man pushing it. Tristan spun around. The cart and the man were on the other side of him.

Tristan knew that they had passed through him as if he were not there. He had heard what the paramedic said. Still, his mind searched for some other –any other – explanation. But there was none.

He was dead. No one could see him. No one knew he was there. And Ivy would not know.

Tristan felt a pain deeper than any he had ever known. He had told her he loved her, but there was not enough time to convince her. Now there was no time at all. She'd never believe in his love the way she believed in her angels.

His baby. His precious, beautiful unborn baby. Tristan would never get to see him or her when they take their first breath into the world. Would never get to hold the small baby in his arms. He felt tears well up in his eyes, and then they overflowed and down his cheeks. His precious, beautiful, perfect baby, forever without a father. So stupid! STUPID!

"I said, I can't speak any louder."

Tristan glanced up. He had stopped by a doorway. An old woman was lying on the bed within. She was tiny and gray with long, thin tubes connecting her to machines. She looked like a spider caught in its own web.

"Come in," she said.

He looked behind him to see whom she was talking to.

No one.

"These old eyes of mine are so dim, I can't see my own hand in front of my face," the woman said. "But I can see your light."

Tristan again looked behind him. Her voice sounded certain of what she saw. It seemed much bigger and stronger than her little gray body.

"I knew you would come," she said. "I've been waiting very patiently."

She has been waiting for somebody, he thought, a son or a grandson, and she thinks I'm him. Still, how could she see me if no one else could?

Her face was shining brightly now.

"I've always believed in you," she said. She extended a fragile hand toward Tristan. Forgetting that his hand would pass through hers, he instinctively reached out to her. She closed her eyes.

A moment later, alarms went off. Three nurses rushed into the room. Tristan stepped back as they crowded around the woman. He suddenly realized that they were trying to resuscitate her; he knew they would not. Somehow he knew that the old woman did not want to come back.

Maybe somehow the old woman had known about him.

What else did she know?

Tristan could feel the darkness coming over him again. He fought it. What if this time he didn't come back? He had to come back; he had to see Ivy one last time. Desperately, he tried to keep himself alert, focusing on one object after another in the room. Then he saw it, next to a hand outstretched to the woman and angelic wings spread.

Thanks for reading! I decided that I'm actually going to write the in-between stuff, too! Yay! Okay, um, awkward, so, bye -Cammie