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to come back. I have to make you understand that I’m not in a coma. God, please. You have to make these people understand that I can hear them. If you do that, I promise I’ll be a better person. I’ll be a better wife, a better friend, a better sister. Please. You have to help me. I’m so afraid. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life lying here, not being able to see, or move, or speak. I want to hold my husband in my arms again, and laugh with my friends. I want to make things right with Drew. Please. Don’t let this be happening. It can’t be happening. It can’t be.
    Casey felt her thoughts begin to wobble and disperse. She was suddenly very woozy. Dilaudid, Demerol, Ativan, she was thinking as she felt her eyes close.
    Seconds later, she was asleep.

THREE
    “C asey,” she heard someone say softly. And then again, more forcefully. “Casey. Wake up, sweetheart.”
    Reluctantly, Casey felt herself being dragged into consciousness by her husband’s voice. She opened her eyes, saw Warren looming over her, his handsome features distorted by the proximity of his face to hers, so that he appeared bloated and gargoyle-like. “What’s going on?” she asked, trying to clear her mind of the strange dream she’d been having, and noting that the clock radio beside their king-size bed said 3:00 a.m.
    “There’s someone in the house,” Warren whispered, casting a worried glance over his left shoulder.
    Casey followed his gaze through the darkness, her pulse quickening as she sat up.
    “I think someone might have gotten in through a basement window,” he continued. “I tried calling 911, but the lines are dead.”
    “Oh, God.”
    “It’s all right. I have the gun.” He held it up, its barrel glistening in the reflection of the half moon outside their window.
    Casey nodded, recalling the argument they’d had over his insistence to keep a gun in the house. “For our protection,” he’d said, and now it seemed he’d been right. “What do we do?” she asked.
    “We hide in the closet and lock the door. If anyone opens it, I shoot first and ask questions later.”
    “God, that’s awful,” Casey said, using Gail’s voice. “Does anybody really talk like that?”
    “They do on TV,” Warren answered.
    What? What’s going on? What TV?
    “I don’t think I saw this one,” Gail said.
    What is Gail doing in our bedroom? Why has she broken into our house?
    “I don’t think anybody did. Looks like one of those straight-to-video numbers. But the doctors seem to think keeping the TV on might help stimulate Casey’s brain, and frankly, it helps pass the time.”
    “How long have you been here?” Gail asked.
    “Since about eight o’clock.”
    “It’s almost one now. Have you had any lunch?”
    “One of the nurses brought me a cup of coffee about an hour ago.”
    “That’s all?”
    “I’m not very hungry.”
    “You have to eat something, Warren. You have to keep up your strength.”
    “I’m fine, Gail. Really. I don’t want anything.”
    “They’re getting closer. I hear them on the stairs. We don’t have time.”
    What are you talking about? Who’s on the stairs? What’s happening?
    “Get under the bed. Hurry.”
    “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
    Who are these people?
    “Enough of that crap,” Warren said.
    A clicking sound. Then silence.
    What was happening? Casey wondered, startled to realize she didn’t know whether her eyes were open or closed. Had she been asleep? For how long? Had she been dreaming? Why couldn’t she distinguish between what was real and what wasn’t? Were these people her Warren, her Gail? Where was she?
    “Her color’s better,” Gail remarked. “Has there been any change?”
    “Not really. Except that her heart rate has been fluctuating more than usual….”
    “Is that good or bad?”
    “The doctors don’t know.”
    “They don’t seem to know much about anything, do they?”
    “They think she might be experiencing more