New York Times bestselling author Joy Fielding delivers a riveting tale of suspense about a young woman caught in a nightmare somewhere between life and death. Beautiful, happily married, and the owner of a successful interior design business, Casey Marshall couldn’t be more content with her life, until a car slams into her at almost fifty miles an hour, breaking nearly every bone in her body and plunging her into a coma. Lying in her hospital bed, Casey realizes that although she is unable to see or communicate, she can hear everything. She quickly discovers that her friends aren’t necessarily the people she thought them to be—and that her accident might not have been an accident at all. As she struggles to break free from her living death, she begins to wonder if what lies ahead could be even worse. “It is Fielding’s ability to get under the skin of her characters—and her readers—that has made her such a dependably bestselling author,” says the Calgary Herald . Smart, suspenseful, and overwhelmingly addictive, Still Life is a novel her fans won't soon forget. Joy Fielding is the New York Times bestselling author of Now You See Her , The Wild Zone , Still Life , Charley’s Web , Heartstopper , Mad River Road , Puppet , Lost , Whispers and Lies , Grand Avenue , The First Time , See Jane Run , and other acclaimed novels. She divides her time between Toronto and Palm Beach, Florida. Visit her website at JoyFielding.com. Still Life 1 LESS THAN AN HOUR before the car slammed into her at a speed of almost fifty miles an hour, throwing her ten feet into the air, breaking nearly every bone in her body and cracking her head against the hard concrete, Casey Marshall was sitting in the elegant, narrow dining room of Southwark, one of South Philadelphia’s more popular white-tablecloth restaurants, finishing lunch with her two closest friends and stealing glances at the beautiful, secluded courtyard behind their heads. She was wondering how long the unnaturally warm March weather was going to last, whether she’d have time to go for a run before her next appointment, and whether she should tell Janine the truth about what she really thought of her latest haircut. She’d already lied and said she liked it. Casey smiled at the thought of an early spring and allowed her gaze to drift over her right shoulder, past the luminous still-life painting of a bouquet of enormous pink peonies by Tony Scherman, and toward the magnificent mahogany bar that was the centerpiece of the restaurant’s front room. “You hate it, don’t you?” she heard Janine say. “The painting?” Casey asked, although she doubted Janine had even noticed it. Janine regularly boasted she was oblivious to her surroundings. Having said that, she always seemed to select only the finest, most expensive places for them to have lunch. “I think it’s fabulous.” “My hair. You think it’s awful.” “I don’t think it’s awful.” “You think it’s too severe.” Casey looked directly into Janine’s intense blue eyes, several shades darker than her own. “A little, yes,” she agreed, thinking that the sharp, geometric angles of the blunt cut that hugged Janine’s long, thin face put too much emphasis on the already exaggerated point of her chin, especially when combined with the almost blue-black tint of her hair. “I was just so tired of the same old thing all the time,” Janine explained, looking to their mutual friend, Gail, for confirmation. Gail, sitting beside Janine and across from Casey at the small, square table, nodded obligingly. “A change is as good as a rest,” she said half a beat behind Janine, so their sentences overlapped, like a song being sung in rounds. “I mean, we’re not in college anymore,” Janine continued. “We’re over thirty. It’s important to keep current. . . .” “Always good to keep current,” Gail echoed. “It was just time to do away with the Alice in Wonderland hairdo.” Janine’s eyes settled pointedly on the naturally blond hair that fell softly across Casey’s shoulders. “I liked your hair long,” Casey demurred. “So did I,” Gail agreed, tucking a few frizzy brown curls behind her right ear. Gail never had a problem with her hair. It always looked as if she’d just stepped on an electrical current. “Although I like it this way, too,” she added. “Yeah, well, it was time to move on. That’s what you always say, isn’t it?” The question was accompanied by such a sweet smile that it was difficult to know whether or not to take offense. What wasn’t difficult for Casey to figure out was that they were no longer talking about hair. “Time for more coffee,” Gail announced, signaling the waiter. Casey decided to ignore the deeper implications of Janine’s remark. What was the point in reopening old wounds? Instead, she offered up her gold-rimmed white china cup to the handsome, dark-haired waiter, watching as the hot brown liquid cascaded artfully from the spout of the silver coffeepot. While Casey knew Janine had never