Welcome to Case Closed.

You're listening to Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney, narrated by Stephanie Racine.

My name is Amber Reynolds.

There are three things you should know about me. One, I'm in a coma.

Two, my husband doesn't love me anymore. Three, sometimes I lie. Now Boxing Day

December 2016

I've always delighted in the free fall between sleep and wakefulness.

Those precious few semi-conscious seconds before you open your eyes, when you

catch yourself believing that your dreams might just be your reality. A moment of intense pleasure

or pain before your senses reboot and inform you who and where and what you are.

For now, for just a second longer, I'm enjoying the self-medicated delusion that permits me

to imagine that I could be anyone, I could be anywhere, I could be loved.

I sense the light behind my eyelids,

and my attention is drawn to the platinum band on my finger.

It feels heavier than it used to, as though it is weighing me down.

A sheet is pulled over my body.

It smells unfamiliar, and I consider the possibility that I'm in a hotel.

Any memory of what I dreamt evaporates.

I try to hold on, try to be someone and stay somewhere I am not, but I can't.

I am only ever me and I am not, but I can't. I am only ever me, and I am here, where I already know

I do not wish to be. My limbs ache, and I'm so tired I don't want to open my eyes,

until I remember that I can't. Panic spreads through me like a blast of icy cold air.

...