Tom knelt next to the young woman's body, and inhaled sharply. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and she was so tiny. Her skin had a translucence about it that reminded him of the porcelain angels his mother had collected when he was a child. And that is exactly what this woman appeared to him to be -- a tiny, fragile, porcelain angel. But at the moment, this particular angel was a fallen angel, and she needed his help -- and fast.

Quickly, he assessed her condition. She didn't appear to be breathing, but her skin had only a slight pallor, which meant she might still be alive. He placed a finger to her carotid artery to check for a pulse. "Yes!" he shouted. It was there -- faint, but still there! There was a chance! He turned her body to the side, and water poured out of her mouth. He rolled her back into a prone position and checked her mouth for any foreign objects, then he pulled her head and neck back and up, took a deep breath, and placed his mouth over hers, as he began furiously to try to breathe life back into this angel.

The wind and the rain continued to pound them mercilessly, but Tom was oblivious to it all. All he was aware of was this intense need he felt to bring this angel back to life. He HAD to do this -- there was something deep within him that seemed to be driving him to do this; something inside of him that wouldn't let him give up on her -- she needed to live. Tom continued frantically for about a minute, praying silently between breaths. Soon she coughed and gasped, and she was breathing on her own. Tom laughed and looked up into the very heavens that threatened to destroy them all, and shouted: "I knew you'd never abandon one of your own!" He scooped the young woman up and raced back to the cabin, with a barking Charlie following closely behind.

Tom slammed the cabin door behind them with his foot, as he tried to keep the rain and the wind from following them inside. He was determined to keep this angel alive now that he had brought her back to life. She shuddered convulsively in his arms, and he knew he had to work fast because she was still not out of the woods, by any means. She was soaked clear through and chilled to the bone. He knew he had to get her out of those wet clothes and warmed up soon, or all of his heroics out in the storm would be for nothing. He was glad he had started a fire in the fireplace earlier in the evening because the heat from those flames was just what was needed right now.

He placed the woman gently on the floor while he threw the cushions from the couch onto the hearth area in front of the fireplace. He peeled off his soaked rain slicker and threw it into the corner, barely missing Charlie, who whimpered at the near miss. "Sorry, pal!" Tom ruffled Charlie's wet fur as he ran past him and into the bedroom, where he pulled some sheets and pillows and all of the blankets off the closet shelf.

He returned to the main room and quickly covered the couch cushions with a sheet, then turned to attend to the angel. "I'm sorry, angel, but I need to get you out of these wet clothes as soon as possible, or you'll catch pneumonia -- if you haven't already. I promise this is necessary, and I will try not to look." With that he began to remove the woman's wet clothes -- what there were of them. She was only wearing a lightweight, silk cardigan; a thin, black camisole; and tight, Capri pants -- all black -- and no shoes. Tom assumed she had lost the shoes somewhere on her journey from wherever to here. He got down to her bra and bikini panties and hesitated, deciding that he would save her any further embarrassment later by leaving them on her. He picked her up and laid her down on the makeshift bed he had made for her in front of the fireplace, and began wrapping the blankets around her, while he rubbed her extremities to try to get the blood circulating again.

Charlie sauntered over and joined him, gently licking the young woman's cheeks. Tom laughed, "So you feel rather protective of this angel, do you, Charlie? You think she's yours?" Tom patted Charlie on the head. "I guess in that case, maybe we should call her Charlie's angel!" he chuckled out loud at his little pun, and then returned to the serious task at hand -- bringing this angel back to consciousness again.

Tom gazed at her face, and it stirred something in him. He seemed to recognize her from somewhere, but he couldn't seem to place where. Had he seen her before? Or was it that he had dreamed of this face before? She certainly had the face -- and the body -- of a dream girl, and Tom sighed as he suddenly felt a wave of sorrow wash over him for the man who may have lost her. "I can't imagine facing life after having and then losing someone like you, angel."

Tom thought about the events of the past few days, and now this. Less than an hour before, he had been lamenting his life and this trip, but now he felt invigorated by all of it. He wondered about the chain of events that happen in people's lives that take them unknowingly to the places and people they need to be at or be with in order for even greater things to happen. This entire vacation -- and especially saving this angel -- seemed to him to be a very important part of an even bigger scheme. He didn't know how he knew that, he just did. And that thought alone made him feel calm and serene inside himself, despite the violent storm that raged outside.

Jerry began brewing what would be his third pot of coffee of the night, and thought about the events of just the last few hours since he and Jax had returned to Brenda's cottage. After Jax had learned from the answering machine message that Brenda had been pregnant with their child, he had finally gotten angry and raged at the fates. But his anger, though white hot and intense, was short-lived, and soon he had retreated back inside of himself. Jerry had tried to draw him back out, but Jax had rebuffed all of his efforts to comfort him, finally telling Jerry that he needed to be alone, and then he had headed upstairs to the room he and Brenda had shared. Jerry had asked if he wanted him to stay, and Jax had merely mumbled, "Suit yourself."

So Jerry had stayed and made phone calls. He had called his parents, who were shocked and heartbroken at the news of Brenda's death. They had wanted to fly down immediately, but Jerry reminded them that with the remnants of Hurricane Gerard still pounding the area, that they would be unable to get to Port Charles anyway. They were worried about Jax, and Jerry assured him that he wouldn't leave Jax until they could be here with him. This was a Jacks' family loss, which required that the Jacks family handle it. Brenda was certainly a Jacks in spirit, if not in name, and, of course, the baby... Jerry hadn't told his parents about the baby. There was just so much sad news one should hear on the phone, he had rationalized. This was the sort of news that needed to be given in person, when they could be together, to give each other the kind of hands-on support such devastating news demands.

After he had called his parents, he had called Bobbie, to let her know of the night's events, but she already knew. She had been working a double shift in the ER at General Hospital when the ambulance had arrived with Veronica. She said that the entire staff had been shocked and saddened by the news that Brenda had died in the accident. Bobbie had suggested that she come over to be with him and Jax, but Jerry had declined her generous offer. As much as he longed to have the comfort of Bobbie's arms right now, he knew that Jax needed some privacy for the time being, and he needed to respect his brother's wishes.

Jerry had then phoned Robin Scorpio and Ned Ashton to tell them of Brenda's death. They were devastated at the news, but they both asked if there were anything that they could do to help. Jerry suggested that they call their circle of mutual friends to inform them of Brenda's death, and they had graciously agreed to do that for Jax. Jerry was grateful for that, and he knew that once Jax was back to himself, that he would be also. Jerry had told Robin and Ned that he would get back to them as soon as possible with the information about a memorial service for Brenda. Jax needed to be the one to make those plans, but right now he was too raw to face that necessary step in this grieving process.

Jerry had also called Addie to ask that she prepare a press release for the media, and to tell her to have all questions from the media directed to the office rather than to the family or to Jax. The last thing Jax needed was to deal with the jackals of the media now. He also arranged for private guards outside Veronica's hospital room to prevent any unauthorized person from harassing her for an inside scoop on all of this. The truth of Veronica's illness and the role it played in Brenda's death did not need to become public knowledge.

Jerry remembered back to Veronica's words at the crash site: "Don't let Harlan get us!" she had screamed, and Jerry had known then that the sight of the helicopter had set off Veronica's delusional state that ended up killing Brenda. Jax had insisted on using the helicopter to find Brenda and Veronica, and if he even suspected that the use of the copter was what had set in motion the domino events of this harrowing evening, he knew Jax would never be able to forgive himself. So Jerry vowed to make sure that no one -- least of all Jax -- ever learned that particular piece of information. He loved his brother too much to let him suffer needlessly over something that could not be undone. He and his dad had always gone to great lengths to protect Jax from bad things, and this was no different, he thought.

The gurgle of the coffeemaker, signaling it was done brewing the latest pot of liquid caffeine, pulled Jerry out of his reverie. He poured himself a fresh cup and headed back onto the living room, where he settled back onto the love seat to wait out the end of the storm that raged outside and, hopefully, the end of the one that was raging upstairs. He hoped that the one upstairs would end soon, and give way to Jax finding some sort of peace in all of this, and not result in his being in a permanent state of depression or denial. But somehow he was afraid that he was once again wishing for a miracle, and in his experience, those were few and far between in a lifetime.

Jax hadn't meant to be so curt with Jerry. He just needed to be alone with Brenda, and having Jerry shadowing him prevented that. In his head, he knew that Jerry meant well, and was just wanting to be there to comfort and support him, but in his heart, the only comfort and support he wanted was Brenda's. He ached for her now -- it was a physical ache that could not be denied. So, here he sat, in the middle of the bed they had shared, hugging her pillow and remembering. She was everywhere here -- he could smell her essence on the pillow, on the sheets, in the air -- and he could almost see her coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel that she would quickly discard as she laughed devilishly and headed toward him -- and he could almost feel her as she leapt into his arms, wrapping her lithe legs around him and sending his pulse racing. If only he could feel her in his arms again...

He buried his head in her pillow that smelled of the honey and tangerine shampoo that she loved so much, and he cried. Crying seemed all he was capable of doing at the moment, even though he couldn't cry anymore in front of Jerry. He knew that Jerry thought he was being stoic, but he really wasn't. He just couldn't share this intense pain with anyone else, not even his family. Jax needed to grieve for Brenda and the baby in private. The baby... the thought of what might have been -- what should have been -- brought fresh tears to sting his eyes and tear at his heart. Brenda was pregnant with their child, and she hadn't even known. She hadn't been afforded the luxury of knowing that particular joy, and now they would never know that joy together.

He had just recently realized how much he wanted to have children with Brenda, although he had always imagined them with children, even from the first moment he had fallen in love with her. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman -- beautiful, talented, fun, spirited, gentle, caring -- and more than anything, she completed him as no other woman ever had, or ever could. He knew she would have been a wonderful mother, despite having no real mother of her own as a role model. She was nurturing, and she nurtured him, even though he doubted she thought that. She was a part of him, and he couldn't imagine life without her...

Life without her... All he had left now was a life without her -- or their children. He had imagined what their children would be like -- spirited, beautiful, adventurous, fun loving, and brave. They would tackle life as it came, and they would not run from any part of it... Not run from any part of it...is that what he was doing now? Was he running from life by retreating here in this safe haven that was his and Brenda's, and not sharing his pain with others who knew and loved and lost both her and the baby? Perhaps, but for now he could do no more than he was doing -- grieving deeply for a love that was lost to him -- and no one could deny his right to that grief. He owned it, just as surely as Brenda would always own his heart and his soul.

Crying softly, Jax finally drifted off into a deep sleep, filled with a cacophony of sounds and a collage of images of his and Brenda's life and their love together. Here in his dreams was the true safe haven for Jax, as he could once again feel her in his arms; taste her luscious lips; drink in her rich laughter; sense her agile body beneath him as they made long, slow, delicious love for hours on end... But then the images changed, and he could no longer see her, as she was lost in a hazy mist. But he could still hear her: she was telling him not to forget her or their baby, and that all was not lost. Their love was a miracle, and miracles are never wasted. He just needed to believe.

Jax awoke with a start to the sound of the rain pelting the windows and the wind whistling feverishly as it twisted the limbs of the trees just outside the bedroom window. His thoughts drifted back to the previous evening, when the search coordinator had informed him that with this storm, there was little hope of ever finding Brenda's body, let alone finding her alive, and at that time he had agreed and accepted that she was gone. But now, despite listening to the storm howling outside, he was filled with a sense of hope that she had survived and that she was alive. He wasn't sure if the brief sleep that he had gotten was responsible for buoying his spirit again, or if it was something more. All he knew was that for the first time in hours he had a sense that Brenda and their baby were no longer lost to him, and that they would indeed return to him. Granted, it would take a miracle, but he more than anyone knew those were possible. After all, the great love that he and Brenda shared was the greatest miracle he had ever known, and he was not ready to let that miracle be over forever.

Tom watched as the "angel" tossed fitfully on her makeshift bed. He was no longer worried about warming her up -- her own body had taken care of that, and with a vengeance. In fact, she was feverish now, her face was flushed, and perspiration beaded her forehead. Tom had removed the heavy blankets that he had previously wrapped around her, and replaced them with a single, thin, cotton sheet. He had also been applying cool compresses to the back of her neck, her forehead, and under both arms. And if she ever regained consciousness, he would give her some Tylenol as well. He had to be sure to thank Emma and their divorce settlement that had given this cabin to both of them to use, for the Tylenol. His hypochondriac ex-wife kept a virtual warehouse of drugs at any place she might spend a night, and Tylenol was just one of the many pills -- both over-the-counter and prescription -- that he had found in her little stash.

He was also grateful for the medical training -- meager though it may have been -- that he had received at Quantico when he was in training as a FBI agent. He at least knew the basics of first aid -- and then some. He could do CPR and assess for broken bones, and even start IVs and do rudimentary care of bullet wounds, if need be. And in his recent undercover activities, that particular knowledge had come in very handy! Luckily, the angel had no bullet wounds, and he had checked her for broken bones, and she didn't seem to have any of those either, although she did have several rather large, recent bruises.

This made Tom wonder about the source of her injuries, and how she ended up on the banks of the Charles River outside his cabin. Now he wished that he had opted to bring a radio or a TV with him to the cabin, but originally he had planned to try to escape the rat race for a few weeks, so he didn't think he needed those things. Little did he know that a mysterious angel would fall into his lap, and he'd be curious as to whose heaven she had fallen out of. He couldn't even call anyone to find out anything about her or to even get help for her, since the storm had taken out the phone soon after the wind had started, and his cell phone was locked inside his car, which was currently locked inside the only service station in Brighton, which was a good 15 miles from here. "Some crack FBI agent I am!" he laughed ruefully at his own foolishness. "We're always supposed to be prepared -- even more than the damn Boy Scouts!" His expression instantly softened as he looked back at his "angel" tossing in front of the now damped fire. He only hoped that she could hang on until Mike Harmon stopped by next week with the supplies he had ordered yesterday from his store.

She was surrounded by water -- dark, murky, cold water -- and she needed to get out and back to "him." She was trying so hard to climb to the surface, but the current was too strong, and she was so tired... She just needed to rest... But "he" kept calling her... "Nobody leaves!"... She could hear "him"... She needed to get out of there now and back to "him"… But something kept pulling her back down... Her lungs hurt so badly now, they felt like they were going to burst... She needed to get to the surface to breathe… and to "him."

She suddenly sat straight up, gasping for air. Tom's first instinct was to run to her to help, but when he saw the fear in her large, cocoa brown eyes as she looked wildly around the cabin, he hesitated momentarily. She didn't seem to be having trouble breathing so much as she seemed to be waking up from a nightmare -- or waking into a nightmare. He took a small step toward her. She appeared to shrink back from him, so he started talking to her -- slowly at first, but as her apprehension seemed to grow, he felt the need to go faster to tell her everything and allay any fears she might have about him or his intentions.

"Don't be afraid," Tom started. "I won't hurt you. I'm not a rapist or a murderer or anything like that. In fact, I saved your life! My dog found you last night washed up from the river just in front of the cabin." He took another tentative step toward her, and when she did not seem to recoil, he smiled and said, "My name's Tom Langan, and this is Charlie." He pointed to Charlie, who by that time was at the woman's side and wagging his tail. "He's actually the one who found you last night in the storm."

She slowly raised an unsteady hand to brush her damp hair away from her face, and then she patted Charlie on the head, smiling shyly at both Charlie and Tom. Tom's heart caught in his throat. She's even more beautiful when she smiles, he thought.

"Well, it's very nice to know who you are," she said in a somewhat shaky voice, "but who am I?"