by JoAnn

"This vacation stinks," I thought miserably to myself as I walked down the busy Caribbean Island street. It was too blasted hot, and the air conditioner in my hotel room had died a long-impending death, with many "lo sientos" from the manager, but no replacement. I will never take another vacation based on a deal I got on the Internet, I thought angrily, swatting away at a fly determined to make my hair his new home. I had pulled the chestnut waves up into a ponytail and put shorts on over my bathing suit, setting out to find any coolness possible, even if I had to sit in the local bank lobby to get it. I glanced at my watch and saw that this was going to be impossible, as the bank had already closed...at least the sun would go down soon, and a bit of relief would be mine. I looked up and saw a man and a woman emerge from an old hotel that was obviously condemned...my curiosity, and just plain boredom with my life in general, kicked in, and I ducked behind a tree to watch them. The man put his arm around the red-haired woman, who was carrying a briefcase, her red braids and shiny sunglasses glinting in the setting sun. They seemed in love...and I felt a moment of envy. How I wished I had an all-consuming, passionate, intense love, with someone who felt and needed the same...most people wrote me off as just that nice girl from Texas, who ran her own typing business out of her home...few ever suspected the simmering inferno that lay beneath my surface...and even fewer had ever been interested in finding out about it. My life was quiet, sedate, and boring....and I was screaming to be freed from it. Little did I know that was about to happen.

The man and woman disappeared down the street, and once they rounded the corner, my curiosity got the best of me...I put on my own sunglasses and casually looked around...and then I ran up the street and entered the building the same way I had seen the man and woman exit from it. The air was thick with dust, and I coughed, batting at it...that was when I saw the two bodies. I gasped for air, as my initial reaction to run as far away from there as possible rushed through my body...but compassion for these poor souls outweighed it. I gently crept further inside the door, and looked first at the light haired man who lay sprawled out on the floor...I felt for his pulse, but he was obviously dead, and had been for a while. I crawled on my hands and knees to the other man, his white shirt splattered with blood, and for a moment I thought I had discovered an angel, fallen to earth...he was beyond a shadow of a doubt the most beautiful man I had ever seen, even with his face and body bloodied and beaten, and blood slowly oozing out of the gunshot wounds in his chest. I shakily put my hand to his neck, knowing for sure there would be no pulse, how could any man live through what he had obviously endured. My hand almost jumped when I felt it...a weak, thready pulse, but still there. His respiration was slow and shallow, but somehow, this man still lived. He must be especially blessed, I thought to myself. I pulled a large, embroidered handkerchief from my purse, using it to try to stop the blood from his chest wounds, as I dug around in the dark handbag to pull out my cell phone to call for help...even on this remote island, emergency medical services were only a call away. As I waited for them to arrive, I tried my best to talk to the man.

"Senor..."I said, trying to see if he were conscious on any level...how I wished I had medical training! Please God, don't let him die here in my arms, I prayed, feeling a pull of affection for this stranger. I gently touched his cheek, wiping away a rivelet of blood, when I was startled to see his eyes open, just a fraction of an inch. "Senor?" I gasped, taking his hand in mine. He tried to talk, but could only whisper incoherently...I soothed him as best I could, trying to keep him calm. "I called for help for you, don't worry...I won't leave you, you are safe now, do you understand?" He gave me just a hint of a smile, and I felt his hand close in a barely perceptible squeeze around mine. I couldn't understand what came over me at that moment. I lifted his hand up to my lips and kissed it, on the only part not dirty or bloody. A light in his eyes lit up for a moment, and then he closed them, letting out a moan of pain that I knew was serious. "Where ARE they?" I cried, looking up into the collapsed rafters of the old building, feeling desperate and alone. After what seemed like endless minutes, I heard the sirens...things would be all right...somehow.

"Please, miss, stand back, all right?" the paramedic asked me brusquely, as they loaded the man onto the stretcher. The coroner was zipping up the other man into a black body bag, and I shivered for a moment, feeling as if someone had walked across my grave. The police had grilled me for a while, then took my name and the number to the hotel where I was staying, apparently deciding I was telling the truth. Neither man had any identification on them, so the police decided they would try to get more information through their fingerprints. My angel, as I began to refer to him, would be questioned, IF he pulled through his injuries. I got into the back of the ambulance with him, and the paramedics began to tell me to get out...but they must have seen the determination in my eyes, and decided it would just be a waste of time. We sped off quickly to the hospital.

I waited for hours, as the night passed into the next day, drowning myself in bad coffee and even worse food, trying to stay awake, unable to even think of leaving there until I knew whether or not my angel had pulled through. I know I attracted a lot of odd looks from the nurses at the hospital, dressed in a purple bathing suit and khaki shorts, and decidedly dirty and even a little bloody from crawling around the floor of the hotel, but I didn't care. For some reason, a part of me was joined to this strange man, and I couldn't deny it. Finally, the doctor strode in from behind the swinging doors marked "no admittance" in Spanish, and approached me.

"Senorita Ferris?" he said, nodding to me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. I nodded back, and was relieved to see his wide smile. "The man you found should be very grateful to you, senorita...he has a long recovery ahead of him, but he will not die, thanks to your swift actions. Gracias, senorita." I smiled, and asked the doctor if I could see him. "He is extremely weak, senorita...the surgery was long and difficult. But you may go in...he may not be able to talk, though." I asked if I could stay with him, and the doctor frowned. "You have done a fine thing, senorita, but the nurses can watch over him now...you do not know this man, verdad?" I nodded, but explained that I truly did want to stay with him as much as possible, that I felt responsible for him somehow. The doctor frowned, not sure this was appropriate, but at last gave his consent. I couldn't stop myself from hugging the diminutive, balding man, which seemed to embarrass him to no end. He directed me to room 666 (that was to later become quite a joke between us), where my angel lay, and I walked hurriedly down the hall to his door.

I peeked in slowly, and saw that the room was in semi-darkness, the drapes pulled tightly. Angel lay on the bed, pale and very tired looking, but a darn sight better than he had looked several hours ago. I walked up quietly and gently put my hand on his forehead, to see if he had any temperature. That was when he opened his eyes.

"Sweetie," he sighed, in a raspy voice that showed all he had endured. I smiled, and looked into his eyes, overtaken by their amber beauty...it was then that I knew I was really in trouble, for this man had captured my soul. "I'm here," I said softly, and he smiled weakly, laying his head back on the pillow and sighing loudly. He grimaced as the pain from his many injuries shot through him, and I held his hand until it subsided. "Listen to me," I said, and he opened his pain-filled eyes and looked at me. "I am here...and I am not going to leave you, do you understand? I will be here...all you have to do is just look, and I will be there." An emotion I couldn't name seemed to pass through his eyes, and I held his hand a little tighter, as if to give him some of my life force to support his own. I sat down in the little chair next to his bed, and still holding his hand, I lay my head down on the bed next to him. I didn't leave his side the rest of the day, helping the nurses care for him, and when night fell, I was still there...with my head resting on the side of the bed, at his side.

The next morning I awakened to the feeling of someone gently stroking my hair, as a mother would do for a child. I slowly roused, unsure for a moment where I was...and then I turned my head to see my angel there, his hand threaded in my hair and a small smile on his face. "You look better today," I said softly.

"I am better, I think I am actually alive," he said, smiling, even though the effort to do so pained him a bit. "Do you want anything? Some water?" I asked, moving to get up, but he pulled at my hand, making me stay where I was. "I don't want anything but you, right here," he said, giving me a devilish smile that I knew had probably devastated hundreds, if not thousands, of women in his lifetime. "Tell me your name, sweetie," he said, giving me my hand a squeeze. "It's Joan, Joan Ferris," I said, unable to take my eyes off his beautiful face. I must be losing my mind, I thought to myself, and noticed that I didn't even seem to care much about that.

"Joan...ah, my little warrioress, like she you are named for, the Maid of Orleans, verdad?" I laughed, thinking that no one in the little dusty town where I lived would EVER refer to me as a warrioress....I found I liked the term. I especially loved the way my name seemed to roll off his tongue like Spanish sangria, smooth and intoxicating. His accent and the deep sound of his voice seemed to do odd things to me, arousing me in ways I had never felt before. "And you, what is your name?" I asked, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze. He smiled then, with a look in his eyes that was both amused and crafty, and I realized that I really didn't know this man. "My name...well...what would you like to call me, sweetie? I promise to come...to whatever name you choose." I laughed, amused at his suggestive teasing, even though his reluctance to divulge his name reminded me that this was not a man run over by a runaway bus, but that had been shot several times, and had a high-powered rifle at his side when I found him. I felt a chill go up my back...what have I gotten myself into? "I call you Angel (pronouncing it with the Spanish pronunciation, ahn-hel.)." I said, embarrassed the moment it was out of my mouth. He smiled, and said, "Ah, I am your angel, verdad...but of what sort?" He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, sending a burst of fire up my arm, and down into my deepest desires, and I knew I was not going to be able to leave this man. The question lay now in what I had committed myself to. He slowly pulled my hand, until my face was just inches next to his...he breathed in my scent, like a primordial being, taking stock of me. I shivered in response, and he smiled, just before he pulled me again and took my lips in an open mouthed kiss, taking my mouth as he took my soul, unwilling to release either one until he allowed it. He frightened me, and aroused me...the mixture of the two was heady and dizzying. He released my lips suddenly, and looked into my eyes, as if approving what he had just tasted...and wanted more. "You are so sweet, mi corazon...I intend to taste all your sweetness...and make you mine." I knew somehow this wasn't some poetic line to him...when he intended to make you his, he owned you, body, mind, soul and spirit. What manner of man is this, I thought to myself, as my bruised lips came of their own volition this time to meet his.

In the weeks ahead, I discovered my angel could truly be an angel...straight from hell. He terrorized the nurses, cursed at them, threw whatever was handy at the doctor whenever he came into the room. It was only when I was there, and asked him to stop, that he would. He seemed to be a man totally out of control, and I didn't know why....and yet, when I was there, he was calm, sweet, and charming beyond compare....the nurses dubbed him "Mr. Sybil", since he seemed to be two different people (old American movies were a big hit on this island, apparently...), one person with them, another one entirely, with me. He still hadn't told me his real name, and I began to worry what I was going to do...because now he was well, and there stood the doctor before me, telling me he was releasing him. The police could find no record on Angel, and they eventually believed his story (along with the false name he gave them, "Angel del Fuego"...even I had to laugh at that one...), that he and the other man were lured to the dilapidated hotel by a swindler and his girlfriend, shot and left for dead after being chased, beaten, and robbed of everything they owned, including their passports, IDs, everything. (How convenient.) No sign of "the swindler" could be found, and the police had dropped their search. The police seemed to be unable to disbelieve anything Angel said, he was so convincing. The problem was, I knew without a doubt that Angel was lying...about everything. Everything but the words of affection he had for me. Was I a fool, or lucky to have found him? I would soon know.

"Si, senor, you are recovered enough to be released from the hospital, but you must rest for at least six to twelve weeks in order to be fully recovered. I trust your friend here will be able to help you?" Angel looked at me, for the first time seeming to wonder if I was actually going to stay with him. The doubt he felt was obviously a new emotion for him, and he looked at me, his eyes asking me, and for the life of me, I could say nothing, I could only nod at him. That was enough, apparently. "Si, she will be there," Angel said, and then he smiled at me with a smile that took my breath away. What would the night ahead hold? I felt a mixture of fear and excitement begin to churn in my belly, and I gripped the arms of the chair tightly. The doctor turned to me and began to give me instructions...I tried to listen, but Angel sat behind the doctor, his head cocked to one side, as he slowly began to unbutton the pajama top he was wearing, his expression totally sexual and predatory, but with a sweetness that made my head swim. I swallowed hard and said, "Si, Doctor, gracias, I will do all that you say," still looking at Angel sitting behind the doctor, on the bed. Angel smiled and mouthed the words, "and all that *I* say, as well." My mouth went dry, and I could only stare at him. He laughed out loud, and the doctor frowned at him as he signed us out.

He refused to go to my hotel...he said he preferred we travel to another part of the island, where he had made arrangements for us over the phone. After getting the approval from the doctor for such a trip, we set out in the car I had rented for us. I drove, and as we sped along the edge of the water on the scenic ocean road, I chanced a look at Angel. The window of the sedan was open, and the wind whipped at his shirt as he sat, one arm resting on the window edge, the other tossed casually across the back of my seat. He seemingly absently toyed with the curls of my hair that had escaped my ponytail, and I couldn't stop the shiver of arousal that shook through me at his touch. He turned to me at that moment and smiled, and seemed to purr like a cat, saying, "Yessss...for me, as well, querida." I almost drove off the road. He laughed that same laugh, that seemed to find the world and everyone in it amusing, and I pulled my attention back to the road...and wondered what the heck I was doing, going to a strange place with a strange man, where no one knew where I was, or even who I was.

That night, it all came to the flashpoint. Angel had been nervous and jumpy all day, pacing the room like a caged animal, but insisting we could not go out until night had fallen. I knew it was because he didn't want to take the chance of anyone getting a good look at him. I felt real fear begin to surge through me....I felt trapped in a situation that I didn't understand...the only thing I did understand was the passion I felt when he was near, and what the slightest touch or word from him did to me. I was wrapped in his spell, and knew that I was powerless to change it. As the darkness fell, Angel seemed to relax...as if he were in his element, the blackness of night. I dressed from head to toe in white, as if to counteract his darkness, and he whistled low when I emerged from the bathroom in the white, floor-length sheath dress, my hair piled up on top of my head and entwined with fake pearls. I wanted him to choose the light...and to choose me. I knew somehow tonite would be his epiphany, one way or another.

"Mi alma...you are truly beautiful," he said, running his hand up my thigh. He sat in a chair placed before the open French doors, and I could hear the pounding of the waves outside. He had chosen a very expensive, exclusive resort for us, and I wondered where this "robbed" man had been able to come up with such arrangements. I had nothing but questions inside, that I knew he would refuse to answer. But he would answer...or I would leave, even if it meant killing a part of my soul. I reached out and ran my hand through his thick, black hair, letting the glossy curls loop themselves around my fingers. "Angel," I said, knowing the moment had come, "I want to talk to you."

"What about, querida?" he said innocently, deftly turning his head so his mouth captured my palm, kissing it and giving it a little lick with the tip of his pink tongue, sending me shivering with delight. I knew what he was doing. I drew my hand back and stepped over to the French doors, facing the water. "I want to know...who you are, what you are, the truth, Angel. I want to know everything, or I am leaving. Now." I stood still, unsure how he would take receiving an ultimatum from me.

He said nothing for several minutes...he only sat and watched me, at first with a thunderous, angry expression so intense that I thought he was going to do something violent to me. Then slowly, it changed, to a bone-chilling coldness that gave me true fear, reminding me of the way a snake looks just before it strikes. Finally, he spoke. "Si...I will tell you everything, my warrioress. Then we will see." At that point, he began his entire story...and I was shaken to the very depths of my soul. He told me everything....his job as a paid assassin, every man, woman, and yes, child, he had been ordered to kill, how good he was at it, how he wanted to be "Number One" above all, how he had come to be in the hotel, and how he had been shot. All of it. I felt sick to my stomach, like I had been beaten and dragged and shot myself, in my soul, my heart, my mind. I sat there, motionless, for the hour and a half it took him to tell me everything. When he was done, all rage had left him...he seemed like a dried up shell of a man, who now had been emptied of everything that had ever fueled him, and now had nothing. We sat like that all night, not speaking, just drained...and lost.

The next morning, I awoke, still sitting in my chair, dressed in the white dress. Angel sat across from me, and was simply watching me, with an expression so pained that it almost made me cry out. "My name...it's Miguel Bain," he whispered, in a voice so low, I had to struggle to hear it. I sat up, rubbing my neck, and said, "Miguel...that's Michael in English, isn't it....Michael, the archangel, who says, "Who is like unto God?" Miguel smiled sadly, and said, "Si....mi mamacita, she always said I was named after San Miguel, who would protect me..." He laughed bitterly, hanging his head. "But he didn't protect others from me, did he, querida...I have killed so many...so many...I wanted to be first, but I am last. I deserve hell, and I look forward to it." I realized something very important had happened to Miguel last night...that in telling me all, he had released something long held inside him. He had clearly spent all night awake, thinking about it. I wondered if he had ever stopped to do that, at any time, or had he just kept going, like a murderous, vicious, soul-less machine. He had done great evil. I knew I should hate him. But somehow, I couldn't. I dropped to my knees in front of him, and took his face in both my hands.

"You deserve hell, Miguel, most definitely...unless you repent of what you have done. Unless you try in some way to atone for all the evil and murder and horror you have inflicted on others. Unless you change from the demon you are, and become the man your madre once hoped and dreamed you would be...can still be." He shook his head, trying to pull away from me, from my words, from my love. "Listen to me, Miguel...you are dead to Rath, to the world you once knew...even your "boss" is dead now, verdad? Listen to me, Miguel...you are free now...free. Do you understand? You are no longer set on a course...now YOU choose where to go...YOU choose. No one else." He sat there for several minutes, saying nothing, as he weighed what I had said in his mind. Then, something I never expected happened....from deep inside his chest, from his soul, a cry came, like I have never heard made by a human being before or since, a cry so full of pain and anger and loss and hate and sorrow and every possible human emotion, that it shook me like an explosion. He took me in his arms and cried, like I have never seen anyone cry, deep sobs, like howls of pain, that I had never imagined another person could produce, could feel. He cried like that for a long time, and I just held him. I had promised never to leave him...and I wouldn't, I knew that now.

That same afternoon, we packed up all we could fit into the car, and left the resort...and with fake passports that Miguel arranged for us, we flew to Brazil, where we began our new life together. He spent many years dealing with the evils he had done, but always said that my love for him, despite who he had been, was what helped him want to keep going another day. He didn't care about being "Number One" anymore, he always said...being "Number One" to me, and in our work in the rain forests with the native peoples, was enough for him. He was still a dangerous man...but only in bed, and only in the best way possible. Our love always fired hot and passionate, and his intensity was always something that could make me shiver with anticipation with just a glance from him. My Miguel...my dark angel. My angel had made his choice. He chose the light. I pray that he someday sees that not only had he chosen the light...but that in the end, the light had chosen him, too.

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