CHAPTER 23

 “Kristin is gone,” He uttered weakly, redirecting the gun at her and causing her to not come any closer, “I can get her back with this money. I can have time to find work. We can have time to plan a future for us and our baby.”

“And for the rest of your life, you would have the blood of an innocent man on your conscience,” She contradicted him gently.

“Why did you have to come here? I had everything worked out in my head until you showed up!” David shouted. “Now just shut up and let me think.”

The gun he was holding never wavered from its position but he ran his other hand through his hair, looking to the ceiling as if to get his answers from God above.

Paul eased himself away from Monica. He didn’t want her anywhere near him if David decided to go through with his plan. In his head he was going over the possible scenarios. With his gun still holstered and sitting in the living area, none of them seemed good. The best option he could think of was for David to shoot him first. It was obvious that the man had never shot anyone and the shock of it might give Monica a chance to run. He also considered that if he was going to die then Monica might be given her angelic form again and allowed to bring him to Heaven. Either way, she would be safe.

“Look… I’m going to have money. I can give you some if you’ll just keep quiet.” Monica looked at him as if he was insane, asking her to let him shoot her friend. “You like Kristin, right? This will help her! Don’t you want her to be happy?”

“David, this is not going to make her happy!” Monica cried.

The troubled man shook his head. “I really wish you hadn’t come here. I don’t want to do this, but I will if I have to.”

He also wished that he could find that formerly inexhaustible source of rage that usually pooled in his gut, but without the alcohol to fuel it he found it almost completely lacking. He raised the gun a fraction of an inch, and steadied it on Paul’s chest. The agent was looking at him with a steely gaze, his eyes showing no fear for himself, only anger. It was enough to make David remember the dark bruise that still discolored his eye, and a hint of the old rage stirred within, but it wasn’t quite enough to take away his doubts.

“I thought this would be a lot easier,” he muttered as he racked the gun, chambering the first bullet.

Monica saw his finger starting to squeeze the trigger and she was right back in the barn again, with McArthur the one wielding the gun. Paul still looked unfazed but he made no move to avoid what was certain to be a direct hit. She didn’t know if this had been the Father’s plan all along, but there was no way she could watch Paul die without doing anything to help.

She launched herself towards the agent just an instant before she heard the bullet explode from the gun and saw the muzzle flash out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t feel anything at first, only a pressure that forced her into Paul’s arms. The pain came an instant later, a burning that spread outward and soon became all that she knew. Her eyes opened wide in surprise. This was what it felt like to be shot. Then she managed to turn her head and she saw the look on David’s face. It wasn’t the evil, malicious look of McArthur. It was an expression of horror and remorse.

“Monica!” Paul caught her against his body and looked down to meet her eyes. She looked confused as if she couldn’t believe what had just happened, and then the dark pools clouded with pain and he held her tighter, recognizing that look.

David’s hand had instinctively pulled back as if he could somehow reel in the bullet and undo what had just been done. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” he shouted to the air.

The agent was now easing Monica to the floor as blood flowed from the wounds in her back and chest. A nine millimeter bullet fired at point-blank range was not easily stopped by a little flesh and bone. It had entered the upper left part of her back before passing through her shoulder blade, altering its trajectory and coming out just below her collarbone. The change in course had kept the bullet from striking Paul. Instead it was lodged in the wall, just a foot below the ceiling.

The blood came out fast, and David stood nearly motionless, his gun hand shaking. He wanted to just finish the job, but suddenly it all became real to him. The woman lying on the floor was dying, and he was her killer. The gun fell with a deadened thud to the floor and he ran out of the suite as if the devil himself were behind him.

Paul hardly noticed him leave.

“Monica? Monica, you have to stay with me!” he shouted, quickly ripping the sheet from the bed and pressing it against the exit wound. That was where most of the blood was coming from. As usual, the entrance wound was a neat hole, while the exit wound gaped open, flesh and bone pushed out of place, the edges torn and ragged.

“Paul…” the angel gasped. “It hurts… please…” she broke off, not even knowing what to ask for, only knowing that if Paul could help her he would.

“I know… I’m sorry… please, just hang on.” He moved her hands to the sheet and pressed. “You have to hold this. I need to call an ambulance.” He searched her face for understanding and saw her nod slightly. A second later he was on his feet and lunging for the hotel phone. The bell-desk operator sounded shocked but he had to believe that she would take care of the 911 call. He couldn’t afford to stay on the phone.

“Paul…” he heard her whisper as he knelt beside her again. “Where’s Andrew? Andrew should be here…” Her eyes were beginning to glaze over and he knew that her thoughts were jumbled and confused.

“He’ll be here, Monica. I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can be.” Oh God, please let that be the truth.

“He needs to be here,” her breath was raspy and her words were short and stuttering. “He has to take me Home.”

Home. She was talking about dying. “No! No Monica, you are not dying, do you hear me? You’re going to be alright!” He shouted the words but in his head he really had no idea what to think. What was going to happen to her? If she was an angel then why wasn’t God healing her instantly? His eyes caught on the gun that lay forgotten on the floor. David. He was going to kill him when he found him, but not before making him wish he was dead. Then he was going to find Mike and do the same to him. Monica’s blood was sticky against his fingers, and not even the soulful, disappointed look in the angel’s eyes was going to be enough to keep him from hunting down the two men responsible for that.

Andrew was running towards the hotel at a sprint when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. Monica.

“Father,” he begged, “please send me to her!”

He kept running, but suddenly he wasn’t running down the street, he was running down the hallway in Paul’s hotel. He had no idea what room he was in, but then he saw the open door at the end of the hall and pushed himself on even faster.

“Monica! Paul!” he shouted as soon as he entered the room.

“In here!”

Andrew rushed towards Paul’s voice but froze as he crossed the threshold into the bedroom. The scene before him was nothing like what he had expected. His heart seemed to slow, along with all other action in the room as he took it all in. The gun, and Monica’s blood, and Paul leaning over her, eyes frantic. He wanted to ask what had happened, to demand an explanation, but he could tell that there wasn’t time for that. Monica was hurt. He knew enough.

“Andrew… you’re here…”

“She’s been asking for you,” Paul told him as he fell to his knees on the other side of the angel.

“Of course I’m here, Angel. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Will you take me Home? Please ask the Father… I don’t want any other angel of death. It has to be you.” Her voice was barely audible but Andrew caught every word, and he grabbed onto both of her hands and held them tightly.

“Monica, stop. You aren’t going to die. You’ve seen this before. God will hold you in His hand. He’s watching over you right now.”

“David…. David….”

“I know he was the one who did this,” Andrew said quickly. “The police will catch him. He won’t hurt anyone else.”

“No…” she closed her eyes and shook her head. “He…” she took a shuddering breath, “he’s not what I thought. He’s not McArthur…”

Andrew looked over at Paul and saw that the agent was just as confused as he was. “No, Angel,” he agreed as he squeezed her hands again, “he’s not. Now just hold onto me. Hold on, Monica, and don’t you dare let go.”

Her trembling fingers were weak as she struggled to hold onto his hands. She tried to focus on the feel of them, hands that contained such great love and tenderness that she could feel shaking as they held onto her own. He was afraid for her. But she knew that after the fear would come anger and that thought hurt nearly as much as each breath of air she barely managed to take into her lungs. “Don't be mad…” She uttered, beginning to grow light headed as a sensation of floating surrounded her. She could still feel the pain, though it was not as intense and she briefly wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

“No, angel, no. I’m not angry,” He told her, though he didn’t understand the things that she was trying to tell him as her words were lacking explanation. He just knew he had to reassure her anyway he could. His eyes burned with tears as he watched hers close briefly before she forced them open once more. Her breathing was slowing. He was terrified.

“Stay with me, baby,” He whispered, bringing her hands to lips and kissing them gently, “Help is coming, Monica, but you need to stay awake.”

“Trying…” She uttered, but she suddenly only wanted to close her eyes and slip into the welcomed darkness, “I love…you both…”

Her words took Paul’s breath away as the sacrifice she had just made for him hit him harder than anything ever had before. He had always been the one to try to save people from vicious killers, but now one little Irish angel had thrown herself in front of a bullet for him in a selfless act of courage, though she would never see it that way.

His eyes clouded and he rose to his feet to hide that fact, as he turned to the window, “Where the hell is that ambulance?”

As if hearing his rant, the sirens sounded in the distance and quickly grew closer as Paul turned back around. The color had drained from Monica’s face, leaving it an ashen color as she struggled to breath and suddenly it was Lauren he was watching the life drain away from. No. It would not end this way. Angel or no, she could not die. He couldn’t lose her too.

“It’s going to be okay, angel,” Andrew’s soft words pulled the agent from his thoughts and he focused on the look of complete fear that surrounded his former partner.

“Not…afraid…” Monica tried to reassure her friend before her ice cold hands went limp in his as she gave up the fight.

“Monica? Monica?” But the angel received no response as he desperately searched for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there and he had never been more thankful. There was so much blood and his trembling hand moved to stroke the hair from her face, only wanting to touch her…needing to touch her to assure himself that she was still with him. She was the bravest little soul he knew and he could only pray he would get a chance to tell her that.

David had burst out the door of the back entrance of the hotel before forcing himself to slow to a walk, not wanting to look as incredibly guilty as he felt. He had shot someone…by this time had probably killed someone. How had this happened? What had he been thinking? He shook his head, unable to believe he had honestly thought that taking money for someone’s life would be worth it.

The look of pain in Monica’s eyes and the way the sheer force of the blow had physically thrown her into Paul kept playing over and over in his mind. What had he done? She had been harmless really and though her constant badgering him about how he was handling his problems had annoyed him, in retrospect, he knew she had been only trying to help him. He had certainly never wanted her dead.

Murderer. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth and an even worse ache in his gut. This was not what he was. He had never planned it this way. He only had wanted to get Kristin back. Had only wanted to be able to provide for her and the baby and now there was no chance of that. Not now that he had killed someone.
He had to get out of the city. Had to get as far away from here as he could and if he was thankful for nothing else, he was thankful for the ten thousand dollars in his pocket. It was a start and the rest he could figure out later.