Just a few more inches, and she'd be safe. She dug her nails in, pulling herself to the shore line as she ignored the weakness of her arms and the burning of her feverish skin. Rosy streaks were snaking across the sky. She had to hurry! They'd be on her in mere moments. The water was so close… At the first cry of alarm, she somehow pulled herself into the water. The cold relief was a sweet blessing. Not because she thought to get away. There was no getting away…not alive.
She wanted to die.
Hazel eyes opened, quickly adjusting to the bright light filtering through the dirty window. The small woman put a hand to her head, feeling the bandages that were caked with her dried blood. Her limbs felt weak, almost like they weren't there at all. Certainly from blood loss, but she also had a sense that she'd been out of it for quite a while.
"Ah, you're awake. How about that." An unfamiliar voice chuckled.
The woman looked over at an old man, who wore a warm smile and had a white mustache that contrasted nicely with his tanned skin. He seemed nice enough, but looks were deceiving. She jerked upright, but immediately regretted it. The room was sent spinning round and round, and she flopped back against her pillow. In between groans, she scolded herself.
"Whoa, easy there. Easy. You been out cold a couple of days now." He got up from his seat, and slowly helped her sit up in the bed.
"Who are you?" she asked when the world stopped dancing.
"I'm Doc Mitchell." He answered as he sat back down, "And you are one lucky gal. You got shot in the head over in the cemetery."
The image of a gun aimed at her flashed before her eyes, phantom gunfire ringing in her ears. She shuddered. "I would have been even luckier if I hadn't been shot."
Doc Mitchell nodded in agreement, and then his warm smile disappeared. "How much can you remember? What about your name? Can you tell me that?"
The woman paused for a moment. Doc Mitchell watched as her eyes slowly glazed over. For a moment, he feared she'd slip back into unconsciousness. However, she just shook her head and dropped her gaze to her lap. He sighed. The damage was worse than he thought. Well, the mental damage, anyway.
"That's okay, that's okay. It'll come back eventually. 'Til then, what do ya wanna be called?"
"Umm….." the woman looked around, trying to think of something she liked. Her eyes alighted upon a stack of books that sat on top of shelves leaning to the side. One book stood out; it was barely dirty or burned, and seemed to have all its pages. On the spine, she saw a name printed in gold. It was a little silly for her to be called, but it was better than nothing.
"Angel." She said at last, "It's a decent name."
"Angel it is then." Doc Mitchell agreed, patting her hand, "Welcome to Goodsprings."