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Disclaimer: NBC and MTM (and who else??) own The Pretender, I don't. I use them without permission for the only purpose of promoting my favorite show. I don't get any money out of it and there are no copyright infringements intended. Please don't sue.
The song doesn't belong to me either. Copyright by Piet Roelen Publishing. Adapted by Helmut Lotti and Wim Bohets. Taken from the CD "Helmut Lotti classics out of Africa" (a wonderful CD btw!!)

Title: My Angel
By: Chris
Rated: G
Category: S
Spoilers: None
Keywords: ???

You were my angel, the love of my life
Too long was the distance to be man and wife
So I said farewell with pain in my heart
To go on with our lives half a world apart

I look around my room and everything feels so lonely and unpersonal. This is my house after all, doesn't it have to have personal touch? Well there are pictures on the wall and every chair and table and doorknob tells its own story. But does any of these tell a story of me? They know I own this house but do they have a personal connection to me? With every piece in this house I connect a memory but nevertheless it feels not like home. Maybe because I feel watched. Constantly I feel as if somebody were near me, were watching every step I take, every breath I make and everything else I do. This is paranoid! I know I'm alone and nobody's watching me. Well, hopefully not. I can't help but think of Jarod. Does he feel watched as well? He's in constant danger of being caught by the Centre's sweepers, he knows I'm trying to hunt him down. Chased by me. I don't know how he can live with that.
I feel as if I'm haunted by my own thoughts. Why can't I stop thinking about him? He's only a wonderboy, a labrat, an experiment, only - only the first person I ever kissed in my life.

You're still in the forest and so is my mind
I guess it will stay there though I left you behind
I still hear your laughter, I still feel your skin
Oh, I'll never find such an angel again

I know that I have to stop thinking about him or else I go crazy. He is like a shadow of myself, following me wherever I go. He never leaves me and I can't get rid of him. I wish I could. I need something else to think about. The fact that I'm on holiday makes my days so long but daddy insisted that I take a few days off. I didn't want to but he pressed me. "It's for your own good, angel", he said and kissed me. Without another word he shoved me out of the room and there I stood, alone in the corridors of the Centre. I don't know why I did this, why I let myself be persuaded.
I wonder where Jarod is right now. The last time I saw him we were somewhere in Brazil, in the rainforest. I don't want to think of that because he - yes, he kissed me then. I didn't want to admit that I loved him and he simply took my face with his strong arms and kissed me. I didn't want him to do it, he simply did it. He laughed when he looked at me afterwards. Then he ran off into the forest. I haven't seen him since.

When I see a sunset or hear a bird that sings
I'm thinking of you and I wish I had wings
But the time will be kind and pain goes away
Memories will linger, sweetened every day

With a glass of whiskey in my hands I step outside. Maybe my thoughts get distracted when I'm outside. No, I can't stop thinking about him. I always look around, hoping that he'd step out from behind a tree or the corner of my house. This isn't getting any better when I'm out here, I have to get back inside. I close the door and walk over to my CD rack, maybe some music distracts my thoughts enough to think more straight. There are so many CDs, I have no idea which one to take. If I take a slow one, I have to think about him, walking around this room or kissing me back there in Brazil. If I take something faster I wish he were here to dance with me. So what? Classical music? No, this makes me sad and depressed. More like Rock'n'Roll? No, not tonight. I close my eyes, take a CD and push the play button. Oh my god, I've taken the Celine Dion one. Well, if that's what my subconscious wants, then I can't contradict. I walk back outside, in hopes of finding a little peace. I sit down on the grass, the soft evening breeze caressing my bare shoulders.

And one day in life on some warm summer night
I'll look at the moon and my heart will be light
Then I'll hear your laughter and I'll feel your skin
And I will have met with angel again

But there's more. I fell watched again. The feeling has been gone, now it's back again. I'm not alone. Oh come on, You're really paranoid. There's nobody there. A movement over there. I'm not alone!! Oh s***! It's only Spot, my neighbors red cat. She walks through my garden and looks at me. She comes over to me and caresses around my legs. I pat her and she walks away again. But something catches her attention somewhere in the corner of the garden. I get up and follow her. A little piece of white paper is lying there on the floor. What the hell is that? I bend down to pick it up and find myself lying on the ground as I open my eyes. What happened?
My head's spinning and it's really dark outside. The moon's gone and it's quite cold. Spot's sitting beside me, looking at me. The piece of paper is in my hand but I have no idea what happened. Slowly I stand up and walk towards my house. The door is closed but I push it open. Inside it's even darker than outside, the music is no longer playing. I sit down on the sofa. My head's still spinning and I feel terribly cold. Spot has followed me inside and sits down on my lap. She warms me and snuggles against me. At least someone who loves me. I dare to look at the piece of paper in my hands. It is a piece of an old photograph. OH MY GOD! That's Thomas. NOOooo! All the thoughts about Jarod are gone, there's only one thing left in my mind: DESPAIR. I want him back, want him to hold me, want to feel his soft fingers on my body, feel his breath in my ear and smell him. His smell used to be all over the house, no there's no trace left of it.
I still don't know what happened back in the garden, why I fainted. I did faint? Something tells me that I should get back outside to have a look at that place again. Spot follows me like a shadow. Well, is that really Spot? She looks a little bigger than usual. No, that's not Spot. She has a little letter around her neck, fastened to a small red ribbon. I take the letter and read it. Well, I want to read it. There's nothing on it. Only a piece of paper. But - - - but it smells like Thomas. Somehow the moon's back and sparely lights up the garden. I look at the tree where I first found the photo. There's a hole in it. A hole? What kinda hole? I run my fingers over it and it feels like a bullet has hit the tree. That wasn't there before. Did I faint because I was hit by a bullet? No, I'd feel it and there'd be no hole in the tree. My fainting saved me from being shot. Did Thomas try to save me? Did he save me? Did he come back as a guardian angel? Spot seems to smile like the Cheshire cat and vanishes. SHE VANISHES? Oh my god, I've gone nuts. I have to get back inside, lie down on my bed and sleep. Maybe tomorrow I wake up and find this was all a dream.

Then I'll hear your laughter and I'll feel your skin
And I will have met with angel again
One day I'll meet my angel again.

June 8 2000 by Chris

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