In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 by Fanny Lee Savage Page A

first few days after I woke were spent in and out of darkness. Nurses and my father’s face appearing, before falling back into a dark sleep full of screams and nightmares. Emily’s mangled body always reaching for me, her hands trying to grasp me. In my dreams, her body would be burned, Emily’s half of our angels, charred, blackened by fire, the small arm melted into her skin.
    I had lost mine in the accident. Part of me was glad. I couldn’t bare having to see my angel’s outstretched arm, waiting for her other half, the only piece that would make her whole. Waiting forever for her sister’s embrace. One that would never come.
    My injuries had been severe. I had several broken ribs. My collarbone had snapped, almost severing an artery, and I’d endured severe head trauma. Doctors told me I had been put into an induced coma as they waited for the swelling to go down. It was amazing I was even alive. By all rights, I should have died that night.
    Daddy, choking on the words, had tried to tell me about Emily. But I shook my head, unable to bear hearing the pain cracking in his voice. My heart was in a thousand pieces.
    The doctor informed me I would be able to go home in a week if not sooner. They said it was a miracle. I was healing so rapidly, everyone was astounded. Nurses were whispering that I had angels watching me. Like heavenly hands had reached down to mend the broken bones, and stitch my torn flesh. It stirred everyone up so, Daddy, against the advice of the doctors, moved me to another smaller, hospital.
    It was there, in the small modern medical facility, that I made a full recovery a mere two and a half weeks after the accident. There were endless blood tests, x-rays, and questions. I was monitored closely by my doctor and few nurses. The staff there didn't say much when I had been found walking with a cane to the bathroom, the sling supporting my arm cast aside, desperate for a shower. None of the nurses whispered in hushed tones eyeing me suspiciously. If anything, my rapid recovery was nothing new to them. No one seemed amazed when only three weeks after a devastating car accident, I walked out, completely healed. My body, holding no evidence of the accident other than the faint scar over my collar bone where they had to operate. I swear it was for appearance’s sake they asked that I go to physical therapy and consult with the hospital’s therapist.
    During my stay in the hospital, I refused to speak Emily’s name. The television was never on, the newspapers lay untouched. Fear of seeing her name or hearing it spoken was more than I could handle. The memories of that night flooded my dreams, remembering each sound and smell, leaving my unable to speak for days. My father tried to talk to me, but his pain filled the room and forced the air from my lungs.
    Finally, the day before my release, I worked up the courage to read the paper. There was a brief article mentioning the death of the daughter of a prominent scientist. Doctor Stephan Duval was to receive an award for his work and the article recounted the night of the accident.
    Twin sisters, who after a night of celebrating their twenty-fifth birthday were found off Route 335, the car still smoldering after it had burst into flames. The accident, it read, had been caused by a deer jumping in front of the vehicle, sending it out of control and crashing into the tree line. One twin managed to crawl to safety before the car was engulfed in fire, leaving one trapped inside. The police guessed a combination of alcohol and speed played a part in the deadly crash.
    I had reread the article several times, trying to understand the words. How had they gotten it so wrong? There was never a deer. There was only Emily. I had been trapped, unable to move, the seat belt jammed and un-giving. The searing pain when I tried to free myself. The cool hands running over my face, and the bright stars as I was placed on cold, wet grass.
    Dr. Gregory had tried several