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seemed too unbelievable.
                  She wasn’t dead and this wasn’t the afterlife. This had to be some sort of dream. Was Sampson attacking her in the parking lot a dream too? No, that felt very real. Which meant she had been injured but not dead.
                  Oh man, she must be in a coma. That explained the room, her clothes, and the mark on her chest. Her real body was probably hooked up to a million machines in a drab hospital and all of this was in her head.
                  She felt better knowing that she was in a coma. At least it was better than being stuck in Hell. Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to wake herself up. Well, obviously it wasn’t figuring out that this wasn’t real. Maybe it was like in the movies, she had to figure out something life changing about herself before she woke up in a hospital bed.
                  If that was true, she certainly wasn’t going to figure it out in this room. She went to the door next to the armoire and discovered a large walk-in closet that was completely empty. Maybe this was a metaphor for her life.
                  Screw you, subconscious , she thought as she closed the door with more force than necessary. She was well aware that her life was empty; she didn’t need a metaphorical reminder.
                  She walked over to the other closed door but before she could reach for the doorknob, it turned and she jumped back as a woman entered the room.
                  She was around the same height as her but she had the kind of body that Cordelia would die to have. She was all long limbs and lean muscle in her yoga pants and fitted tee. Her hair was black and straight as a pin, cut in a chic bob that brushed her chin. Cordelia was startled by her eye color, it matched her hair and from this distance, there was no way to tell the difference between iris and pupil. Her face was narrow with a high forehead and well-defined cheekbones. Her lower lip was fuller than the upper one and gave her mouth a lushness that most women paid plastic surgeons a lot of money to achieve.
                  Cordelia immediately felt intimidated by this stranger. She didn’t feel like she was in danger but this woman had a regal air to her. It made her feel inferior standing in front of the woman, half-naked.
                  “I’m sorry if I scared you, I thought you were still sleeping.”
                  The woman’s voice was low and raspy but it worked for her. There was a slight accent there and it reminded Cordelia of the cosmopolitan femme fatales you would see in the old black and white films.
                  Cordelia tugged at the hem of her shirt, feeling incredibly uncomfortable standing in front of this beautiful woman. She probably looked like a total mess. Someone’s borrowed shirt showing off her ugly pasty thighs and her hair was probably a rat’s nest around her shoulders. She reached up to try to pat down her hair but was surprised to find it smooth against her head. That was weird. Her hair was always a giant frizz ball when she woke up.
                  Which lead her back to remembering that everything had been weird since she woke up here. Ah yes, the coma. Now she had someone who could tell her why she was here in this room but she was too busy worrying about her hair to ask the millions of questions that had been racing through her head.
                  “I’ll be happy to answer all of your questions,” the woman said as if reading her mind, “But first I should probably introduce myself. My name is Mary.”
                  Cordelia stared at the hand that Mary had offered for a moment, considering the possible dangers. She was still on edge from recalling Sampson’s attack. Then she remembered that this world wasn’t real. This woman didn’t actually exist; she was just a