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between them. A large mahogany armoire was across from the foot of the bed, two doors flanking it. One was closed and the other was only slightly ajar, revealing a white tiled floor. On her right was another closed door and to its right, a blood red sofa with a cedar chest as a coffee table.
                  There were oil paintings with heavy ornate frames on the walls. Crystal sconces were strategically placed around the room. There was a Tiffany lamp in the centre of the desk. And she was pretty sure that the sheets beneath her were silk. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t her apartment with its cheap Ikea furniture and motel art. Where the hell was she?
                  Cordelia tried her best to remember what had happened before she had gone to sleep. She remembered being at work late and then locking up the trailer but she couldn’t remember anything after that.
                  Oh God, had she gotten into a car accident on her way home? She looked down at herself but her body appeared whole. No IV lines, no casts, no stitches, nothing. She felt fine too as she stretched and sat up in the bed. No bruising or muscle aches. She felt completely refreshed in fact. 
                  No, if she had been in a car accident she would be in pain. Plus, she would be in the hospital and what kind of hospital had silk sheets? And dressed their patients in a black, over-sized men’s button up shirt.
                  She stared down at the shirt that came to the middle of her thighs. Jesus Christ, whoever owned this shirt sure was a big boy. The question of who had put the shirt on her screamed to the forefront of her mind. Revulsion filled her at the thought of someone touching her body while she slept. Oh God no, please no, not that .
                  She reached for the hem of the shirt and drew it up her thighs. She was slightly relieved to see that she still wore her own panties and a quick check down the front of the shirt showed her bra still in place. She sighed in relief. She still had her underwear on, that had to be a good sign.
                  There was still the matter of where the hell she was and how she got here. She slid over to the side of the bed and stood up. As she stretched and cracked her back, she felt a twinge of pain in her chest. She unbuttoned the shirt and found a small pink mark, about the size of a dime, between her ribs.
                  She traced her finger over the mark and an image flashed in her mind. A piece of bloody steel sticking out of her chest. She remembered now.
    She had been in the parking lot at work and Sampson was there. Next she was on the ground, her body aflame with agony and then the boy had come to her and everything went dark.
                  Oh God, she died. She was dead. Was this Heaven? The rich furnishing made it seem like it. Then again, the entire color scheme of the room seemed to be based around red, which seemed like more of a Hell motif. Jesus Christ, what had she done to deserve to go to Hell?
                  Okay, maybe taking the Lord’s name in vain wasn’t much of a testament to her piety but it wasn’t as if she killed anyone. Weren’t there supposed to be levels of sin and God took that into consideration? She had never been very religious in life so she wasn’t too clear on how this worked.
                  She began to move around the room, evaluating her surroundings more closely. She peeked through the door to the white tiled room and realized it was a well-appointed bathroom. Large vanity with double sinks, a deep Jacuzzi tub and a glass door shower in the corner. Who knew the afterlife would have plumbing?
                  She walked over to the armoire and opened its doors. There was a nice plasma screen television, a DVD player and a stereo system inside. Well, that was odd. They had electricity here too. Now that just