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figment of her comatose brain. She took Mary’s hand and shook it.
                  “My name is Cordelia.”
                  “It’s nice to meet you, Cordelia.”
                  Mary went and sat down on the sofa, casually crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knee. “Now, what would you like to ask me?”
                  Cordelia eyed the other seat on the sofa but she didn’t quite feel comfortable enough to sit down. Her body was twitchy with adrenaline and trying to relax would be a useless venture. Instead, she walked over to stand in front of Mary, keeping the cedar chest between them.
                  “Where am I?”
                  “We’re in a home about an hour north of the city. This manor is owned by my father Nicky and I live here with my brother Remy, my sister Anne and my nephew Demetri.”
                  What a weird collection of names for her subconscious to create. She didn’t know anyone with those names and she wondered if they were the names of clients that had become lodged somewhere in the back of her brain.
                  “How did I end up here?”
                  “Nicky brought you here last night after you were injured.”
                  “He brought me here? To his house instead of a hospital?”
                  “There was nothing the hospital could do for you.”
                  “And how do you know that? Are you a doctor or something?”
                  Maybe Mary was her doctor in the real world. She had read about coma patients picking up details from the world around them in the hospital.
                  “No but Anne is,” Mary said. “It doesn’t matter though. There was nothing a human hospital could do for you.”
                  “ Human hospital?”
                  “Look, to be honest with you, I’ve never done this before. Nicky went to handle some things and he thought he would be back before you woke up but he’s still MIA. It would be much better for you to wait for him but I get the feeling that you won’t want to wait.”
                  Cordelia shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. Mary sighed and uncrossed her legs, rubbing her palms over her pants, her nerves obviously getting the best of her.
                  “You’ll have to bear with me; there isn’t exactly a script for this situation. I just hope I don’t screw it up,” Mary said, before taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “Okay, do you remember when you were attacked?”
                  “Yeah I remember. Sampson pushed me, I got shishkabobed and then he left me there.”
                  “Do you remember seeing someone else? A boy, looked about sixteen with gold eyes and light brown hair?”
                  Cordelia thought back to the attack and the aftermath. She remembered the stars coming out in the sky and then the face hovering over her with the gold eyes. She had thought it was Death coming to take her.
                  “I do.”
                  “That was Nicky.”
                  Wait, didn’t she just say he was sixteen?
                  “Nicky, as in your father?”
                  Mary nodded.
                  “Nicky, your father, is sixteen years old?”
                  Mary nodded again.
                  “Christ, my subconscious is screwed up.”
                  “I’m sorry?” Mary said, confused.
                  “It’s just that inventing a teenage father with a daughter in her twenties, that is beyond weird. That has to be some sort of psychological problem. Like the opposite of Oedipal Complex or something. If I get out of this coma, I’m so seeing a