After a long hiatus from the world of fanfiction writing, I have returned, equipped with the plot and the characters of Into the Deepest Darkness. This fic is the sequel to An Angel's Redemption. This is rated T but it may go up in one or two chapters because of some themes and language.

To all those who enjoyed An Angel's Redemption, I hope you also support this sequel. Thank you so much.

DISCLAIMER: Angels and Demons (the book and the movie) don't belong to me. I don't own the camerlengo, naturally, as well as another character whom I will introduce here. I don't own Rome…or the Vatican. I just own some of the characters and the plot.

Chapter 1: Turbo Suscipio (Into the Whirlwind)

Gray clouds hung ominously over a city at the heart of the Italian Peninsula. The sky was lifeless, dull, signaling a storm brewing in the heavens, covering a thousand square kilometers. Indeed, the ottobrate, the beautiful October days when the sun shone on the city, were gone. November had arrived. The rains brought a kind of sadness, especially to a particular prisoner in a cell.

His cell was at the end of the ancient corridors of the correctional facility. It was a square room of less than 100 square feet. The three walls were made of concrete, whitewashed. The floor was cold to the feet. The back wall was where the bed stood. It was a simple piece of furniture yet still true to its function. Above it was a glass window, blocked by thick, unbreakable iron bars that disabled escape attempts.

The heating system was only a few paces from the bed. Backed up on the right wall was a plain chair and desk, with a black mug and a few pens scattered carelessly on the table. Iron bars comprised the fourth wall, enabling him to see his fellow prisoners and the corridor that separated the two sides of the prison.

The prisoner glanced at the sky, knowing that his release was far from near. Two years for attempted homicide… He could see the dim Roman sky float above the Regina Coeli prison. He had been transferred there a week after his interrogation and trial. But I saved myself by confessing to the Polizia di Stato…here, I am safe. He will never find me. He will not know that I told them. They will find him. They will end his plot to destroy the Church.

He was kept safe because he was important to the investigation. All he knew was that his "master" lived somewhere near Genoa but he did not know the exact location. The foreigner just communicated to him via phone and met with him and other lackeys at a secret basement. The man always kept himself in shadow, even when they first met, so he could not describe the physical appearance, except for the eyeglasses that shone in the dim light.

If only I knew more…this case would have been faster. They've gone through a few weeks of searching in Genoa, but they found nobody…His soliloquy was disrupted by a warden. He was a tall man, swarthy, with piercing black eyes, severely cropped black hair and scars on his face. He was Sicilian, transferred to Rome after 10 years of good performance. His mouth was almost always in a perpetual frown. The voice that came out of that mouth was deep and booming.

"Abandonato, you'll be having a visitor from the Polizia di Stato in about ten minutes." The warden said, with a bit of a wicked grin on his face. Officer Silvestro Marchetti may have looked intimidating and could be very stern, but he was actually very friendly and accommodating, which some inmates did not notice, because they were too busy being cowering at the sight of him and the other wardens.

This prisoner was a brave soul, however, and uncovered Marchetti's kind demeanor in time. "Oh no…don't tell me Commissioner Marino's going to squeeze my brains out. He scares me…" he said, cowering in his vertically-striped prison pajamas, which were too loose for his frame. "Don't worry, Giordano. Your interrogator isn't a he." Silvestro told him, winking.

"What does she look like?" Giordano said, squealing excitedly while running to the iron bars to look Officer Marchetti in the eye. "OH SHUT UP, ABANDONATO!" another prisoner shouted. "She's still signing a few forms at the office, but I heard from the other guards that she is the prettiest creature to ever set foot in the Regina Coeli Prison." Marchetti said, winking at his ward.

"How tall is she? What color of hair?" Giordano asked, razor-cut hair swinging side to side as he shifted exasperatedly. "All I know is that she has luxurious black curls." Officer Marchetti said, scratching his head. There could only be one person he's telling me about. "I see someone approaching. I think it's your visitor." He continued, smiling slyly at the younger man, who sat at his bed, trying to calm down.

Heavy clicks of her heeled shoes grabbed the attention of all the inmates. All were surprised to see a woman who was dressed in something other than a police uniform or a prisoner's striped pajamas. Her appearance could be distracting but her eyes made it clear that she meant business. Before a lecherous old man tried to speak to her, she pointed her eyes at him shortly and continued walking. He did not dare say a word anymore.

She was about five foot eight, wearing 4-inch high pumps. She had long, wavy tresses, framing a light face with a ruddy glow. The only make-up on her face was a scant amount of black eyeliner. She did not wear any jewelry, not even a watch. She wore a white pleated blouse with high collars tucked into a black high-waisted skirt under a belted black jacket.

She stood still as she neared the end of the corridor, saluting as she saw Officer Marchetti, who was there for the purpose of watching over her as she talked to Giordano. "Inspector Helena Maria Gallego, Polizia di Stato." She said, introducing herself without much panache.

"Officer Silvestro Marchetti, Polizia Penitenziaria," said the warden, his dark blue uniform with light blue stripe straightened out. His hand was also raised in salute. He put down his hand and opened the cell with a key. Helena entered, this time, her heels no longer noisy.

Giordano straightened out his uniform and smoothed his messy hair as she came inside. The iron door was shut behind her. "Had I know that you would be here, Inspector, I would have tidied up." He said sheepishly. "I didn't come here as a sanitation inspector. Would you mind if I sit here?" Helena asked, gently dragging the chair from the desk. "No…" Giordano said.

"Giordano, the Police have been searching for that foreigner for weeks in Genoa and still no sign. Are you sure he was there?" she asked. He nodded. "Odd name too…Meurtrier Gris. I'm sure it's not his real name." Helena said. "It isn't. I just know it isn't. It sounds French but his accent isn't. It's more Northern." Giordano said, as if digging through his brain to answer his questions.

"Northern? Like Irish Gaelic? Scottish? English? For one thing, we police concede to the fact that the guy in the video and the guy who asked you to place these bombs are one and the same man. He could have used a voice changer in the video." Helena asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"I've seen the video…and it wasn't his voice. It's far from English or Irish." Giordano said, trying to playback the man's speech. There, I've got another proof that it isn't him. Helena said, relieved to hear those words.

Trying to get other information from Giordano was not really easy since he did not know a lot about his employer. In addition to his limited knowledge, he would be spaced out several times, only for his attention to be called by the Inspector, and to be laughed at by the warden. The questions ended soon. This was the time that Giordano feared the most: Helena's departure.

"Just dig deeper into your head and you might find a few observations…either I or Commissioner Marino will come back here. Goodbye, Giordano. Have a nice day." Helena said, returning the chair and leaving. Just as Officer Marchetti was opening the cell, Giordano stood up from the bed and gripped Helena's arm as if he wanted her to take him with her.

"Yes?" she said, turning to him with a smile. "I overheard him talking to some servant of his saying that he'd be hiring a new chambermaid, a driver to replace his aging employee and a man with the organizational skills of a librarian. He'll be hiring in April. He wants to change his employees every six months to ensure that nobody completely knows of his plans." Giordano said, letting go of her arm.

"I will take note of that. Thank you, Giordano. Behave while you're here." She said, giving a last wave before exiting. Officer Marchetti locked up the cell and led Helena back to the lobby of the prison. She fiddled with something in her pocket. "Did you record your conversation?" the warden asked. "It's more convenient than writing it down." She said, musing.

There was no sound from either the law enforcers or the prisoners. The way down was silent, until Silvestro broke it.

"You know, I think Giordano's obsessed with you. He's been spacing out while you talked…and he seemed so excited to see you," he said, giving a small laugh. "Really?" Helena asked sadly. "He'll probably get over it. He shouldn't fall for his interrogator, should he?" Officer Marchetti said, grinning widely.

"Inspector, do you love another?" the swarthy warden said, the malicious grin still on his mouth. "Why? Are you trying to set me up?" Helena asked shamelessly. Officer Marchetti was silenced. "Well…not…really…I just think that he really likes you and…"

"He'd tell me that at the right place and the right time. Don't plan on matchmaking, Officer. He's eight years younger than me…Besides that; my heart does not fly indiscriminately. Have a nice day, Officer Marchetti." Helena said, entering an Alfa Romeo.

"I read your lips, partner." Helena's best friend and crime-busting partner was busy retouching the mascara on her eyelashes. "That's the problem if you're having that kind of relationship. It looks kind of taboo to get involved with someone the world looks at as a fugitive, but it's exciting, nonetheless. I hope he's as faithful as you are." Bella then looked at Helena, the former's hazel eyes gleeful. "Then again, twenty years of priesthood equals twenty years of fighting temptation."

"Bella Angela Moretti, I really don't know what I'd do without you." Helena said as her friend took off and led them back to the station.

"WHAT?!??!?!?!"

The whole office could not comprehend the burst of emotion. Their leader was a calm, level-headed man. He would not even drop his jaws in dire straits but this was different. Nobody dared to speak and interrupt him. "Are you even sure of that plan?" he said, scrutinizing the whole team standing in front of his desk.

"Yes, Your Holiness. It's the only way we can subdue 'Meurtrier Gris'. The basement where our witness met him had no documents related to Gris." Helena said, her voice softer than her normal tone. The four other policemen beside her dared not say a word. "We considered the consequences of this plan. And by us, I mean the Polizia di Stato and the Swiss Guard." Inspector Moretti continued.

The Pope pressed his fingertips to his forehead, sighing. "It would be dangerous. He is a man of influence; of stealth…it would be difficult to infiltrate his domain, considering the fact that you still don't know where he resides." He said, laying his hands on the table.

"Your Holiness, we have considered that, but we have until March to locate him. The border police are also working the Polizia di Stato," short, stout Officer Gianni Valentin said, reassuring the worried pontiff. "If he will fight using stealth, subtlety and infiltration, I believe we'll have to fight the same way," the petite blonde, Officer Teresa Fabia, said. She may have not received the insult to the Church, but she seemed more vindictive than them.

"I have agreed to apply as a maid. All I need is to straighten my hair and change my eye color so that I can go undetected. So far, no one else has agreed to go with me." Helena said, looking at her colleagues, who were all unwilling to work under a feared villain.

The Pope's office was already gloomy because of the rainy skies, but the sadness echoed with their silence. They all looked as if they had no idea of what they were to do. "Think of a plan that would not endanger your lives. Whether it's one life or many, you cannot just risk it." The Holy Father said, genuinely concerned with the valiant staff of the police force.

"Whatever plan, approach, raid that the police does, there are always risks involved. Sadly, we cannot eradicate them. We can only minimize them. Nonetheless, danger is always a part of our job." Officer Sandro Guerriero said glumly. "Very well then. God bless you all. You may go," the Pope dismissed them.

The five officers were definitely modern in their sensibilities, but slightly traditional in their faith. They all kissed the Holy Father's ring before they went out and gave short bows before going through the huge doors. Outside the Apostolic Palace, under black umbrellas, the three female officers waited for their male companions to fetch the cars.

"Giordano told you that 'Meurtrier Gris' was not his real name. It was just a codename…" Officer Fabia said, turning to an aloof Helena. "Have it translated over the Internet," he said, her indifferent countenance unchanged. "Why didn't I think of that much sooner?" Officer Fabia said, scratching her head with a sheepish grin.

"That's okay, Teresa. We all have our moments." Helena said, downcast, even with the sun peeking from the rainclouds for a short while. "Don't tell me you've turned emo, Helena. That's the LAST thing I want to know." Bella said, wagging her finger at her best friend. "Hopefully, you're just missing a certain person who'll come back sooner than you think," she added, as Teresa stifled a laugh.

"But, if I may ask you…would time fly if it's his memory that floods your mind at night, stopping the very clock that turns your world?"

Teresa's giggles were silenced and Bella could not say anything. The only reply she could give was driving her fingers through her jagged light brown hair. "I'm sorry. I guess my heart took over my head for a while. Let's get in." Helena said as the two Alfa Romeos pulled up in front of them. Teresa went with Sandro; Bella and Helena went with Gianni.

"Len, I'm sorry." Bella said. Her best friend just nodded and gave a sad smile.

He was on his way home that night, shielding himself from the blinding rain with a broad umbrella. The streetlights glowed eerily in the mist; he was alone in that small street. Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, a well-fitting vest and slacks, as well as shiny leather shoes and a scarf lazily draped on his shoulders, he looked every inch the Victorian gentleman.

His shoes plopped on the little puddles that formed on the curb, making an unmistakable sound as he walked home. Is it also raining this hard back home? This little town where he was exiled to could be his home, but he could not feel its warmth. Avia, in Messenia, Greece, had been his place of residence for more than a month. He had known a lot of people, made some friends and (unknowingly) gathered a considerable bunch of admirers.

His habit of staying at the cliffs and releasing all his artistic energy was not changed by his busy lifestyle. He still sketched people, places and things. He wrote poems and learned how to play the guitar. Your Holiness, thank you for sending me the sketchpad…and that leather-bound book. In fact, his other skills helped him find an extra job.

A middle-aged lady entered "Brew and Beans", the café where this exile worked. She was about 5'7 1/2", of medium build, with a few wrinkles on her forehead. She did not look so ragged and old; rather, she seemed to be aging gracefully. She had bright, clear brown eyes and voluminous brown curls.

She looked around the café, which was full of both domestic and international tourists, all sharing stories and conversing. As she was offered a table by one of the waiters, she saw a small sketch of an olive orchard hanging on an opposite wall. She saw a few more sketches with the same style, only with different locations. After receiving her order of an iced white mocha, she turned to the waiter and asked.

"Excuse me, do you know who drew those pencil sketches hanging on the walls?" she asked. The waiter's face brightened up. "Oh, the sketches of the olive trees and Rome? One of our employees drew them. He's not really an art master, but well-rounded. Quite a nice guy, good at singing and popular with the lay-deez." He said, his last word exaggerated. "Do you want to see him or anything?"

"Uh, alright." she said, quite unsure. She sipped the beverage with her straw as she saw the waiter call out an unusual name. "Patrick! Come out here. Someone wants to see you! No, no…just go. I'll be the one to watch over the brew."

After a minute, the man she was waiting for came out and walked to her table. Some tables were completely hushed when he passed through. His spiky, reddish hair, look-through-your-soul blue eyes and shy smile were showstoppers. The woman seemed to recognize him. Oh my…isn't he the…she thought. Oh…you have nothing to worry about. You're not Catholic anyway.

"So, you're the one who made these?" she asked, pointing to a drawing of the Roman skyline. "Well, yes. By the way, I'm Patrick McKenna…and if you watch a lot of news, you'd probably be scared of me by now." He said, grinning.

"Well, yes, I did have a little apprehension when I saw you. Anyway, it doesn't matter. My name's Agathe Spiros and I'm an editor for the local paper. We have a little publishing house here in Avia and one of my illustrators resigned a week ago. I was looking for a new one when I came here and saw your drawings. Are you interested to take on this job?" Agathe asked him.

"Uhm…" Patrick said. "I'll leave my business card with you. Call me if you're interested." She said, smiling at him. "Thank you for the offer." He said, inserting the card into his vest pocket.

He told his host, Vasilis Stavros, that he had an offering an as illustrator for a publication. Upon showing the business card, Vasilis' eyes widened. It turned out that Agathe was a friend he had no contact with for ten years. Vasilis made it a point to come with Patrick as the latter filled in the job vacancy. There was a long conversation between the friends that left Patrick almost neglected.

On Saturdays, he would be working for the paper, which came out weekly. On Mondays to Fridays, he would be in the café. His income was somehow augmented, though with a catch: Ms. Spiros was a spinster. She had made a few unwelcome advances to him.

His colleagues at the publishing house shook their heads. Patrick would have to suffer this until Agathe could find another handsome bloke, preferably someone younger than Patrick's 38 years of age. She had always thought that Patrick was lying when he said he was 38. It turned out he wouldn't lie anyway.

His work companions respected him, but they lacked the warmth and gaiety of the café waiters. For one thing, at least they helped him seem so busy when Agathe felt like flirting with the ex-priest.

"Would you like to go out later? It's going to be a cool, breezy Saturday night," she told him one afternoon, as he was scanning his editorial cartoon. Patrick sighed. He could not put up with this any longer. I have to tell her…though it might hurt…and cause me to get fired.

"I'm sorry, signora. I can't go. Pardon me for telling you this but… I already love another, and we made a promise that we be faithful to each other for the three years that I am exiled." He said, amazing his co-workers with his conviction. "Oh…I'm sorry, Patrick. I never knew…" Agathe said. "It's alright." he said, nodding as she went back.

That was the end of those terrible days, benefiting both Patrick and his companions. He was content with his simple yet fulfilling life in Avia. He had a stable job, a good environment and friendly townspeople but there were a few pieces missing.

He missed some people in the Vatican. He also missed the books he borrowed from Mr. Franco, the elderly bookworm who had been his employer for a while. He had used the 180 Euros that the man gave as a farewell bonus to open a bank account. It did come in handy. He soon had enough to buy a cellphone for himself.

He was really in the old man's debt though it was him who brought customers to the bookshop. He missed Feliz, the happy-go-lucky Siberian husky…but most of all, it was love he was looking for love.

Only one woman could supply the aching lack in his heart…Helena.

His thoughts stopped as he saw a pair of blinding lights. His blue eyes shot open in shock; he thought he was going to die. Within a few inches of him, the lights stopped, and he clutched his umbrella tightly. A long, loud car horn pierced his eardrums.

The man in the vehicle put down his car window and yelled Greek profanities at him. Patrick faced the man, his icy eyes piercing through the man's soul. "I'm sorry for blocking your path. I can't speak much Greek yet, so please try to understand me. Please go on and drive." He said, disappearing into the darkness with his soft, quick steps.

He reached home, sighing as Vasilis welcomed him in. "What's the matter?" the middle-aged, Orthodox Christian, former Vatican employee asked, smiling at Patrick. "I almost got hit by a car because I was busy reminiscing on an empty street, hearing the raindrops fall in their stately grace," Patrick said, stowing away the umbrella.

"That was just too poetic for my ears. That's it. I'm going to hide the dictionary somewhere else." Vasilis teased, going to the kitchen. Patrick put his shoes in a rack near the door and walked through the short hallway. At the end was the back door. Near it was the stairs.

Patrick went to his room in the second floor. The room itself was three-fourths the size of his room back at the Vatican. Its entrance was a simple, varnished wooden door with a chrome knob. It had large windows that let in the breeze, but it had no balcony. The balcony had another entrance.

The walls of the room were also white like the rest of the house, and the floors were made of wood. The light switch was beside the door. He had no large bookshelf, just a small bureau that held his personal effects. Above the bureau was a simple oval mirror that delighted in the former priest's image. The wall opposite that held the large windows and the Venetian blinds.

Midway across the room sat his bed, brass-framed, with a white-and-blue motif. To the left of the bed was a table holding a lamp. Beside the table was a small shelf which held a dictionary, the Bible, reams of papers and a box of pens and pencils.

He turned on the lampshade and sat at the bed, looking at his book-lacked shelf. I wish I brought those books with me…Patrick thought, throwing his socks and vest to the floor, loosening a few buttons of his shirt and lying on the bed. He could remember that he was not yet done reading the last few chapters of A Separate Peace. He had no idea what to do the next day. It was a Saturday but work in the printing house had been postponed because of the heavy rains.

He brought out something from the drawer of his bedside table. It was a necklace, a cross necklace.

"It's beautiful…" Patrick said, admiring the necklace. "It's from my biological father but since then, it was my own. With it, I want you to remember all we've been through even in a short period of time." Helena said, placing the necklace on his neck and locking it with the clasp. Patrick fingered the cross, reminiscing. When the voices of the Swiss Guards called out to him, he and Helena were at the porch of the Holy See in a few blinks. They stood behind one of the massive columns, hidden from public view.

Everything he would bring was already in the helicopter. It was already 8:42. "Do you remember the family tradition for first times I told you about a few weeks ago?" Helena asked. "If you mean slapping me again…OWW!" a sudden hit cut off his sentence. "It still hurts. How about the next part?" Patrick said, as she immediately pressed her lips to his.

He smiled, remembering the tenderness of her lips plant on his. Three years will be like three days. I can't wait to see you again. The smell of dinner made him absent-mindedly wear the necklace and head downstairs.

A rainy winter passed, with a few snowflakes which melted away almost instantly. He spent the holidays writing in his journal, if not helping Vasilis in putting up a few decorations. Christmas was fast approaching; Patrick almost didn't see it coming.

On Christmas Eve, he was writing in his journal when Vasilis called him to come down and eat together with Vasilis' other drunk friends, including some people from the café and Agathe, whom Patrick still worked as an illustrator for. He left his journal open, the pen in the middle. It sat on the top of the bed.

Before he comes back, let's have a look at a few entries…

October 31

There are a lot of kids asking candy from me. Vasilis didn't come home but he instructed me not to give the children anything. I gave them some anyway, it was already 10:30 PM and I wanted them to go home. It was already late. I walked the children down the block until they reached the street where their houses were. They're adorable little children, though they clung to me, saying they were scared of the dark.

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November 1

All Saints Day…sadly I can't go to either my mother's or my father's tomb. All I know is that they're in a better place…though I was the one who sent my father there. I hope he would forgive me. Wherever they are, I hope they're watching over me.

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November 6

I'm quite pleased with the editorial cartoon I drew. A lot of drawing could be beneficial. The other day I almost got into a fight with a customer. He was harassing a woman and I couldn't help but intervene. Maybe I should put my nose out of other people's businesses...but what he did was wrong...Alright, stop debating with yourself.

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November 15

I happened to pass by a bazaar on the way home and I saw a necklace which looked exactly like the one Helena gave me. There was another one like it, only with a red color motif. I immediately bought it. I'd like to give it to Helena when I come home…yes…home.

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December 1

I'm wondering how the Holy Father, Chartrand, Mr. Franco, Lucia, Chiara, Elijah (the doctor) and Sabina (the nurse) are. Of course I can't send them a Christmas card or anything. I guess I'll just have to let these three years end…then I can send them a few gifts.

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December 8

It's the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. I could remember that we usually had a procession within the Vatican. Of course, no one celebrates it here since they're Orthodox. Vasilis and Agathe tried to pull me into a bar and meet women, but of course, I declined since I had work tomorrow and I think they've forgotten that I promised something.

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December 15

The days nearing Christmas are really peak seasons for people to go into a café. No wonder…it's somehow cold, but winter here in Avia is a bit warmer than it is in either Ireland or Rome. A few snowfalls here and there but they melt. I went down to the coast after work and the water was freezing. I went down there to try another angle for drawing. I also saw a few seashore animals and drew them. Had my teachers wanted me to really have an interest in Biology, they should have brought me here.

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December 24

It's time to celebrate the birth of our Lord soon. I could remember attending midnight masses with Mother when I was still young. When I was ordained, it was the first Mass I ever presided. I was exhausted after the Mass. I forgot to take off my shoes and just fell asleep on the bed after greeting my father 'Merry Christmas'.

To everyone I left behind in Rome, merry Christmas. Be reminded that the Lord will come. I hope we are all ready to receive him in our hearts.

Helena, I wish you're celebrating happily with Feliz and your friends. I lo…

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Only a few more letters and his entry would have been completed. From Avia, one's view shifts to a room, also as dark as this one, this time, the window showed a skyline dominated by a huge dome. Nobody was in the room. The owner of the flat was downstairs with a few other police officers, laughing and sharing stories.

The black and white motif of the living room was a stark contrast to the colorful clothes the five people were wearing. A Siberian husky slept soundly in its basket in the distance, completely oblivious to the cacophony.

On the one-seater sofas sat Officers Sandro Guerriero and Gianni Valentin. Three female officers sat on the bigger divan: Inspectors Bella Moretti and Helena Gallego, and Officer Teresa Fabia.

"I could remember a few years ago, I was so drunk at a very formal Christmas party which was also a debut. Everyone was slow dancing while I was going from one person to another, dancing as if I was in a disco. Both men and women…when I found out what happened, I swore never to drink again." Sandro said, his speech slurring.

"You just did." Officer Fabia said, snickering. "That's it. No more wine for you." Officer Valentin said, taking away the bottle of red wine from Sandro and gulping it down for himself. "You told me that you're not supposed to drink. You have a liver condition!" Bella said, taking away the bottle. "It's just in moderation!" Officer Valentin retorted.

"Moderation? You drank three-fourths of the bottle!" Helena said, taking it away from Bella, who was about to drink. "And you…you told me you fall in love with people randomly when you're drunk. I'll be back in a moment, guys," Helena said, disposing of the almost-empty bottle.

After disposing of the bottle, she did not go straight back to the living room. She went up to her room and leaned on the balcony.

Merry Christmas, Patrick. Feliz is okay, though he still misses you. Everyone else is okay at the Vatican, though they receive a few bomb threats or so. I have a problem right now…the guy whom I interrogated fell in love with me, or so the warden said…and what's worse, I don't have just one guy knocking at my doorstep. I have two…the other one is…Chartrand

…and I have no idea what to do.

They both know that I love you, but neither one of them would stop until I saw yes to one. I don't want to say yes to anyone else...just you.

"Helena! There's an emergency!" Bella's shrill voice called out. Upon hearing a few groans and chokes, Helena knew what was going on. I told you so.

"We need him. He can be a great help in this crisis," a strong, firm voice said. "I trust in his abilities, but isn't it too early?" another said, his voice soft.

"I don't know what they will think…but we do need him. I will have to decide first if this plan can push through. Both of you may now go," another said. He was somehow old and his voice was calm and soft.

"What should I do?" That was all he could think about.

Thanks for reading. I'll try to update soon, after my exams…which are already near.