Her throat tightened as she approached the three graves. What did she
hope to find? Reconciliation? Closure? To make sense of the lies? A
whisper brushed her ear, a fluttering sound, and she tilted her head,
listening. Skin prickling, she turned. A statue stood in the corner, an
angel watching over the dead? She didn’t remember seeing
it the last
time she was here, but it had been years ago, and her head had been
blurred with pain. A soft breeze ruffled her hair and stirred the dying
October leaves. Just leaves rustling, not whispers. After the last few
weeks, she jumped at every sound.
She studied the names
engraved on the larger headstones, then knelt before the tiny one
cradled between them. Her finger traced the worn name—Dana Michelle
Rodgers—under the angel’s outstretched wing, thinking she should have
some sense of recognition. After all, it was her grave.
Something flashed in her mind, a memory, a dream—fire and pain. Shay
shook her head and frowned. Some guardian angel. The clouds shifted, and
a shadow crossed the angel’s face, as if he didn’t appreciate her
disrespect. She heard the whisper again. It came from near the statue.
Was someone hiding there? What if it was him? She squinted, trying to
focus, and then watched in horror as the statue turned and looked at