Disclaimer: This story idea is mine, but the characters are not (unfortunately!) I’m sure that everybody knows the rest by now, right? Ok! Email comments to katie66_80@yahoo.ca.

Without You

By Kimber

He watched the building as it was engulfed in flames. He felt all his hopes, his dreams die in the fire.

She was calling to him, calling for help, for forgiveness. For love ... his love.

The fire raged.

* * *

Rollie awoke with a start. He glanced at his bedside clock, and squinted at the numbers. 4:52 a.m.

He shook his head, freeing the horror of the dream from his mind.

He got up, knowing Angie usually came in early on Saturday mornings to get a head start on her work, as there was usually a lot to do.

He waited, with the coffeepot turned on, and Angie’s mug out for nearly two hours. Finally, near 6:15 a.m., a noise sounded at the door. Rollie raced towards the door, flinging it open. He grabbed the unexpecting woman, and drew her in.

"Ang, I’ve been waiting for you. You’re ..." He let the squirming woman go, and watched as she shook her short brown hair into place.

"Tyler, I could have you charged for that, you know." Mira Sanchez joked.

Rollie sighed. "Sorry. I thought you were An ... I thought you were somebody else."

Mira saw the hurt in his clear hazel eyes, and she felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. "Rollie, come on. Angie isn’t coming back, you know that."

Rollie backed away, taking a seat in his soft leather chair. "You’re wrong. Angie will come back. She has to, she can’t just leave me like this."

Mira sighed, and put her arm on Rollie’s shoulder. "Listen, pal. We all loved her, but you’ve got to let her go. Angie died in that fire, and it was over two months ago. I know we never found her body, but that doesn’t mean anything. The fire was pretty bad, and she ... well, let’s just say we found a lot of unrecognizable ashes."

"She is not dead!" Rollie shouted. He shook his head. "She’s not."

Once Mira had left, Rollie got up and began to pace the room. He stopped in front of the photo gallery he had at his set of desks.

He picked up the first picture he saw ... one he had look at ... studied nearly a million times. It was taken just months after he had met Manny Ramirez, and his darling little girl, whom he referred to as ‘Angel’. The photograph showed Rollie, handsome and proper looking at twenty, with his arm around Manny. In the corner of the picture, a child’s face stood out. Angie, at eleven, was staring ... or admiring Rollie Tyler. She had a far away, glazed look to her face.

Another photograph showed Angie, at seventeen, on her graduation night. Her date had his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Rollie laughed, remembering how it had been Manny’s idea for him to accompany Angie to her prom.

"Oh, Ang. How could I have been so dumb?" He cried, sitting back down into his chair.

He remembered the day of the explosion, the day that he, Rollie Tyler, had forced Angie into risking her life. Why he was no better than Nick Breen, the guy who had forced Manny Ramirez to do the risky stunt man years earlier, ending his life.

Angie had been so skeptical...

Two Months Earlier:

... "I don’t know about this, Rol. I personally don't think this is a safe idea." Angie had said, skeptically.

"Trust me," Rollie replied. "It is safe, nothing’s going to happen to you."

"Promise?" She asked, her blue eyes coming to rest on Rollie’s face.

"Angela, you can trust me." He said. "Mira and I will be right there if anything goes wrong. You won’t go in without a briefing. It’s about as safe as anything."

She had agreed, and was all set to do her part that night. When she came to Rollie, later that night, just before they were to leave, he was sure she’d changed her mind. But it wasn’t change she had on her mind, it was something else.

She had waltzed into his room, definitely agitated bout something. She had paced for a good five minutes before settling down.

"Angela, will you quit it? You’re liable to wear a hole in my carpet! Is something the matter?" He’d said, without glancing up at her.

"Rol..." she began. "I just ... Well I was wondering about something."

"Yeah?" He asked, finally meeting her eyes. He saw they were filled with an unusual compassion. "What is it?"

"Well, we’ve known each other for a while, right? And we’ve always had an honest relationship ... I mean friendship." She blushed. "Well, I mean what I want ... what I’m trying to say is ... well..."

"Yes?" He prompted. "We’re leaving in twenty minutes. I’ve gotta get Lucinda prepped too." He got up, and began to walk away.

She grabbed his arm. "Rollie listen to me, dammit! Could we ... I mean have we ever been more than just friends?"

Rollie turned around to face her. "Angela," he said shortly. "Your father was one of my very best mates. I’ve known you since you were just a little girl. No we’ve never been more than just friends."

"But ... could we?" She swallowed hard. "I mean, this isn’t anything new, I’ve had this feeling for quite some time. But I care, Rollie, I really do."

"Angie, hon." He grasped her hand. "I care, too. But you don’t mean this. You’re just confused, and worried over this evening."

"Rollie," she pleaded. "Why aren’t you listening? I am fine, there is nothing wrong with me." She began to cry. "Why not?"

"It would never work; you know that. We’ve been friends too long."

"But, Rollie ... I just don’t want to lose you!" She cried.

"Angie, you’re not going to lose me. Ever." He bent down and kissed her forehead. "Now can we continue later? We really need to go." ...

That was the final time he had seen her well ... and alive. He silently condemned himself. He knew he had been a jerk. She had poured her heart out to him, and he had turned her away. Sent her off in a different direction.

Now she was gone. Forever. And he was left alone with the feelings, and pain ... and the guilt.

* * *

Rollie was woken up the next morning by the shrill ringing of his telephone. He stumbled out of bed, and picked it up.

"Tyler FX," he grumbled.

"Rollie, it’s Mira..." the voice began.

"This had better be good, Sanchez. I don’t appreciate being woken up at six in the morning on a Sunday."

"Rollie, it’s Angie."

"Ang?" He asked, suddenly wide-awake. "What about her? Have you found her? Is she alright?"

"Hey, hold up!" Mira protested. "Yes and no. We ... well, we found her. But Rollie..."

Rollie had already hung up, and was on his way to the station.

He parked hastily in a visitor’s spot, and raced into the building. He spotted Mira and ran to her. "Where is she, Mira? I want to see her, now!"

Mira pointed to one of the interrogation rooms. "But Rollie, listen..." she began.

He raced away from her. "Not now!"

"Tyler, wait!" She cried, running after him.

He threw open the door, and ran into the room. A young girl sat at the table, and she turned to face him. A young girl sat at the table, and she turned to face him.

It was Angie, alright. Her blue eyes shone, but her face was dull … and somehow different.

Rollie ran to her, as she stood up, and threw his arms around her. He kissed her.

Angie shrieked, and began to slap at his chest, wailing.

"Tyler, stop!" Mira raced in, and drew Rollie away. "You don’t understand."

"Understand what?" Rollie asked, staring at Mira, quizzically. "What the hell’s wrong with her?"

Mira glanced at Angie, who was now seated at the table, her head in her hands. "Rollie, my office, now!"

Rollie took one last look at Angie and followed Mira. Once they were securely in her office, she turned to him. "Rollie, you never let me finish. Angie’s not okay; she … she doesn’t remember anything at all. She doesn’t even know who she is."

"Why? Rollie asked.

"We’re not sure. I mean, we suspect she was knocked out in the explosion, perhaps stumbled away once the fires cleared. Nobody saw her leave, and frankly … no one knew she’d made it out alive.

"The couple out there brought her in," Mira motioned to an elderly couple, sitting on the bench, a confused look on their faces. "Said they found her wandering the streets three months ago and took her in. The woman’s a retired school counseller; the man’s a preacher. When they saw our missing ad … the one that Francis convinced me to put out … they called in."

"Well, isn’t there anything to help her remember?" Rollie cried. "She can’t be completely blank!"

"Listen to me, Rol. She is. Hell, the couple says she could barely tie her shoes when they found her. I was hoping you could maybe talk to Angie, you know let her know some stuff about herself. Our Doc will be in shortly to have a look at her. He’ll tell us if there’s any chance … well, if her memory will return."

Rollie got up and raced from the room. He slowed his pace when he reached the interrogation room, and opened the door slowly.

Angie instantly looked up at him, and winced. She began to sink in her chair.

"Hey, sorry I scared you…" he began, sheepishly. He sat down across from her. "I … well I didn’t know."

She reached across the table and took his hand. "Why?"

"Why what?" He asked.

"Why did you do that? Why did you kiss me like that?"

"I … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, but I just…"

"No, it’s okay. I liked it." Angie said, sheepishly. "Are you my boyfriend?"

"Huh? Oh, well no." He answered, blushing deeply. "Just someone who loved you a lot and was very worried about you."

She was silent before speaking. "Who … who am I?"

"Who are you? Well, uh, Angie … Angela Ramirez. You are twenty-four years old, and…"

"No." She said, shortly. "I know my name’s Angela. My wallet told me just as much. But who am I? I mean what did I like to eat, what was my job? Do I have kids? And who is my boyfriend? I want to know, and I know you can help me Mr.…"

"Rollie," he filled in. "Rollie Tyler."

"Rollie, you have to help me." She pleaded. "I hate not knowing."

He grinned and squeezed her hand. "Of course I’ll help, Angie. I’ll do anything to help … to help you remember."

But he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to remember everything. Or anything.

* * *

Two days later, once Rollie had settled Angie in his loft, and let her slowly re-learn her life, he began to realize that Mira had been right. She was completely clueless.

She remembered nothing at all. Not her friends, her families, her tragedies. She didn’t remember Leo, or her father, or Rick, or him.

When he told her stories of her life, he saw that she paid close attention to what he was saying. A few times he’d caught her staring at him, as though trying to figure something out.

One time she spoke up.

"Rollie, wait." She interrupted him.

He looked at her. "Yeah?"

She slid closer to him on the couch. "You were my friend?"

He nodded. "Right."
"Oh," she looked disappointed. "’Cause, well, I don’t know if it’s my feelings returning or what, but … I feel something with you. A sort of bond."

"We were really good friends," he replied, avoiding her eyes.

She was silent before answering. "Rollie, do you, I mean did you love Angie? Did she love you?"

He blushed. "Well, um … in a friendly sort of way, yeah. We looked out for each other."

"I don’t mean in a friendly sort of way." She said.

"Yeah, well…" he got up from the couch. "I do."

"Rollie, is there something you aren’t telling me?" She questioned.

He was about to answer when the front door flew open, and Lucinda Scott breezed in. She instantly caught sight of Angie, and ran to her.

"Oh, Angie! You’re okay!" She threw her arms around her.

Angie recoiled against Rollie. "Who … who is this?"

Lucinda looked at her. "Are you serious? Rollie, is she serious or is this just a bad joke?"

"Luce," Rollie began. "Angie doesn’t remember a thing."

Lucinda backed up. She grabbed Angie’s arms, and held her at arm’s length. "You look the same," she commented.

Angie shrugged.

"Ang," Rollie came up beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Meet Lucinda Scott. Actress Extrordinare, and good friend of yours."

"Hey," Angie replied.

"You don’t remember anything at all?"

Angie shook her head.

"Not me, or Rollie, or Rick?" Lucinda motioned to the framed photo of Rollie and Rick Forsythe, a stunt man and friend of Rollie’s, who’d been killed just a year ago. "How about our blind dates? Hmm, ring a bell?"

"Nope."

"Oh my," Lucinda sighed. "You really don’t know who you are, do you?"