Destiny's Revenge (Destiny Series - Book 2) by Straight, Nancy (novels in english .TXT) 📗

As I lay there in bed, I found myself with pangs of fear gripping me, threatening to rip my insides out. I had always been very strong, I wouldn’t say fearless, but I wouldn’t describe myself as overly cautious either. Oh sure, at some point when I was a little kid I’m sure I was scared of the boogie man, but since I was eight, I don’t remember being scared of much of anything.

Things have changed. I am in a room with all the lights on, terrified that as soon as I close my eyes, some idiot is going to come turn them off. I’m beyond afraid of the dark now, a better description is paralyzed of the dark. I hope it’s something that will pass.

The morning I woke up from my extended slumber, the daylight was everywhere – warm and all encompassing. The light from the window touched every surface in my room, and it was all so new and welcomed after my stretch in the dark. After a full day of every test the medical staff could perform and visits from nearly everyone I knew, I was exhausted. That night when a nurse came in to dim the lights in my room to help me sleep, I about had a melt-down. I don’t believe either one of us knew what to make of my reaction; needless to say they aren’t saving any money on the light bill around here with me.

I guess having been suspended in darkness for so long made me averse to the feeling again in any form. I used to be fine with my own company, now I craved people around me. I didn’t have to be the center of attention or anything, I just needed to know that I wasn’t alone.

When I was stuck somewhere between life and death, it was Rewsna’s voice that I could hear. I called to her, I told her I knew I was alive, and to my complete shock, she acknowledged that I was, and then helped me break free.

The doctors here are great, but they’re baffled by my extended coma, so they’ve done every test known to man. I can’t tell them what really happened, so I’m forced to endure test after test that shows up as inconclusive. Everyone believes that I was mauled by a bear on a camping trip. My body was torn up pretty badly, but it wasn’t a bear that did it to me. I don’t know what he was - he wasn’t an animal, although he looked it - he couldn’t have been human either.

I was camping with my boyfriend Max when something spooked the horses; one of them got loose and took off. He went after it, and this man-thing came into our campsite and attacked me. When Max came back, he phoned for help and a life-flight helicopter came and took me to a hospital.

All my injuries were treated, I just never regained consciousness. I guess they plugged me up to all kinds of machines, and every one of them said my brain activity was normal. They tried a few reflex tests, and it was as if my body had just shut down. After my injuries were healed and no one could wake me up, I was transferred here, to a nursing home, where I became the resident Sleeping Beauty. A little over three weeks ago, to everyone’s surprise, I woke up. Since then I’ve found out life was much the same for everyone I had left behind, except Max.

Max blamed himself for the bear attack, like he could have stopped it even if it had been a real bear. The doctors told him there was no reason for me to be in a coma, but because they couldn’t explain what caused it, they didn’t think I would ever wake up. Truthfully, without Rewsna answering me when I reached out to her, I might not have. Up until then all I really remember was being suspended. I don’t remember the supposed bear attack, but from what everyone keeps telling me, maybe it was better that I don’t.

It turns out that if you don’t use your arms or legs for a couple years, they stop working. The whole time I was out, someone was moving my arms and legs for me several times each day. Lucky for me that they did. I have control of everything, but today I spent nearly two hours in physical therapy working on my motor skills. The muscle atrophy is reversible, but having not used my limbs for so long – the work to get back up to a hundred percent is exhausting.

I like the physical therapist; her name is Rebecca and she is by far the coolest lady I’ve ever known. When she decided today’s program would require me gaining proficiency with a spoon and fork, she brought me mint chip ice cream and warm brownies. I don’t know how she knew this was my favorite, but it sure made for a great therapy session. I wanted to walk today between two parallel beams, but the muscles in my arms are too weak to support my weight, and my legs are closer to cooked spaghetti than appendages.

Rebecca had a pulley installed over my bed so I could work on my strength. As I looked around my empty room, I reached up and pulled on the bar a few times. My upper body seemed to be recovering more quickly than my lower body, and I was pleased that after three weeks I could use the pulley-bar for several repetitions.

I settled back on my bed and looked at my clock: it was ten p.m. I was approaching my fourth week awake with still no word from Max. My mom told me he couldn’t take it anymore, so a little over a year ago, he just left. Max had been a paramedic and decided that he would join the Navy and