I've Been Summoned to a Reverse Seance by My Dead Wife!

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Nothing. Go back to sleep. Secrets. Not that there is a secret. One thing I can say is that I did not kill my wife. The other thing I can say is that while I didn't do it, someone else sure as fuck did. They left her body strewn around our old house, a foot in the freezer, her headless torso in the bathtub, the head that went to that torso sitting on our dining room table, a leg, foot still attached in our pool, both arms in the front seat of her BMW, and so much blood. When I got the estimate to have it cleaned, I said fuck that and decided just to move. I'll figure out what to do with the place later. For now, it can sit and rot. I couldn't care less. My phone pings, and I see my agent's name come up. I ignore his text and keep scrolling. My phone pings again, and this time it's my lawyer. He doesn't wait for me to ignore him and starts calling a half second after he's texted. I go ahead and answer it. I saw it. You couldn't have given me a fucking heads up. I didn't know, Dean. Honest to fucking God. The DA didn't even give me the common courtesy of a quick phone call or simple text. I'm reading it in the rags just like you. Can you go talk somewhere else? I need to sleep. I have an audition in the morning. I got a better idea. I slap a naked ass. Hard. How about you fuck off and go home? I got bigger shit to deal with in your struggling career. Well, maybe it wouldn't be struggling if you gave me a fucking role in one of your fucking movies. God knows I've blown you enough to earn it. She throws off the covers, hops up, gathers her clothes, and storms out of the bedroom. Oh, and your dick is small, and you can't give a head worth of shit. Fuck you, I can't. My wife begged for it. She fucking begged for it. I hear the front door slam and return my attention to the phone. I'm back. That sounded like it went well. Fuck off, Neil. You are hanging by a thread with me. I pay you and your firm more money in a month than I pay all of my assistants combined in a fucking year. Do you know why I pay you all that fucking money, Neil? Do you? So you don't get ambushed by headlines like this shit. I know, I know, Dean. I've already got three associates working our contacts, trying to figure out how this slipped past us. It slipped past you because you kept telling me everything was going to be just fine, which is what you should say to a client. But at the same time, you should have been preparing for war, except you fucking started to believe your own bullshit and got fucking lazy. That's one theory. The other theory is that the DA hates your fucking guts because you fired his nephew three months ago. I fired whose nephew? The damn district attorneys. Who the fuck is his nephew? I don't fucking know. Some kid named Roger or Randy or... Maggie! No, it wasn't Maggie. It was a guy's name. No, the chick I just kicked out is...her name is Maggie. I couldn't think of it before. It's a wonder she left. Sounds like you two had a real connection. Eat shit, Neil. Wipe all those thoughts of my sex life from your mind and fucking concentrate on what we're going to do. Well, that part is easy. You'll meet me at the office at seven in the morning, and we will ride over to the courthouse together so you can turn yourself in. Turn myself in? That's your fucking solution to this clusterfuck? You have been indicted on first degree murder charges over the death of your wife. The only solution is to turn yourself in willingly. We'll get bail set, and you'll be home before dinner. Bail? Are you fucking insane? I can't turn myself in and pay bail. That's what low-life dealers and pimps have to do. I produced three of the ten largest grossing movies last year, and I'm set to have five out of ten this fucking year. Dean Dornan does not turn himself in. Dean Dornan does not have to post bail. Dean Dornan pays people a fuck-ton of money to make sure he doesn't have to do any of that. There's silence for a moment. Are you done talking about yourself in the third person? Go fuck your mother. Nice. Real nice. Neal sighs, and I can picture him taking off those god-awful reading glasses of his and rubbing his face. Dean, I just had the arrest warrant emailed to me. If I don't call the DA right now and tell him you are turning yourself in, then the next knock at your door will be from the police department, not some B-list actress looking to trade pussy for a part. Jesus, Maggie wasn't even B-list. D at best. Dean! I growl low on my throat, then slip my legs out of bed. I'm getting in the shower now. I'll be at your office at seven. I hang up before I'm subjected to any more of his bullshit. Turn myself in. Make bail. How in the fuck did this get so far? A month ago, Neal said we were free and clear. A week ago, the old son of a bitch told me that he'd be surprised if they convened a grand jury. Well, I sure as fuck hope he's surprised now. I hope he's so surprised that he has a fucking coronary behind that $20,000 mahogany desk of his. I pick out one of my best suits. It's slightly dated, having come out five seasons ago. But it's been with me during some of my more profitable times. So I see it as a good luck charm. Then I hit the shower, scrubbing every inch of me thoroughly. I don't want to stink of cheap actress when standing in front of the judge. Jesus Christ, did that just go through my mind? Am I already getting comfortable enough with the notion of being in court that I'm picturing my outfit and hygiene as I stand before some asshole who makes a fraction of what I do? I'm going to have to get control of myself before I see Neal. Otherwise, it won't be a coronary that takes him out, but my fucking hands around his throat. The hot water cascades down over me, soaking me with heat that I can feel deep into my bones. Along with some itching. Itching? Bones don't itch. Except mine are. The feeling builds and builds. And all I want to do is reach inside myself and scratch under all of my flesh and skin. My head rocks back. My mouth opens wide and I scream. Come forth living spirit and speak to us. My head snaps down to my chest and I quickly realize I'm not in my shower anymore. I'm standing on top of a large round table covered in a lilac purple cloth. Those are lit in a circle around my feet. And outside that candle light I see faces. People seated at the table. All staring up at me. Starting something new can be exciting, but it can also be terrifying. When Dr. No Sleep first launched, there were a lot of what ifs. What if no one listens? What if no one likes it? What if it's all a waste of time? But taking that first leap can pay off, especially when you have the right platform behind you. 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I know that voice. Addison? Addy? Is that you? One of the faces leans closer to the circle of candles and I almost scream. Yes, it is her. It's Addison Russell, my late wife. And unfortunately, she looks just like she did when I found her. Except now all her pieces are back together. Well, sorta. You look good. I clasp my hands in front of my crotch, realizing that the other faces are grinning up at me. Don't be cute, Dean. I didn't have you summoned so you could be cute. Not sure how else to be, Addie. I'm a half step away from going completely fucking insane. Although considering the situation I seem to be in, I think that fucking train has left the fucking station. You are not insane, Dean. This is a seance, and I am Madame Ethereal. It is I who willed you to appear. My mouth opens, then closes. I take a deep breath, and there's a hint of sulfur and rot in the air. I have questions, I hold up a hand. The woman who was talking to the dude titters. She actually fucking titters. I put the hand back over my crotch. I suppose you would have questions, Mr. Dornan. But now is not the time for your questions. You have been summoned so that your late wife can ask... Yeah, yeah, fucking whatever. Everyone is summoning me today, blah blah blah, don't care. Oh, but you should. Your very soul hangs. Gonna interrupt you there. Still don't care. Now, my first question is, what the fuck is your name again? Etheral? No, no, not Etheral. Madame Ethereal. Ethereal. Rhymes with Serial, dude. Oh, cool. I nod and smile like I give a shit about what he just said. I do not. Second question, what the actual fuck? I'm alive, I can't be summoned to a seance. It's more like a reverse seance. A reverseance? Nah, that doesn't work. Eddie? Lisa? Please be quiet. Now, Dean, you have been brought here so your late wife may find peace by knowing the truth about her death. Oh, I know the truth. I just want him to admit it. Admit what? That I killed you? Holy shit, he admits it. Cool. No, I'm not admitting shit. I didn't fucking kill you, Addison. I look around at the others. Their faces shrouded in shadow and flickering candlelight. And who the fuck are these people? Why are they here? It takes four spirits to create the connection to the world of the living. Okay, great. Four spirits. Got it. I give them all a thumbs up, then focus on my late wife. Addie, listen to me. I did not kill you. I know you didn't do it personally, Dean. So nice try. I saw who killed me. Hard to miss someone when they are hacking you up with an axe. An axe? They used an axe? Jesus, that seems like a lot of work. Oh, fuck off, Dean. No, sorry. I mean, why not shoot you? Or poison you or drown you in that fucking bathtub you made me put in last year? Hacking you up with an axe is a bit much, don't you think? I mean, I got some notes. Let me tell you. There's a very long silence, then. You didn't kill me. She says it like she believes it. No fucking shit, Addison. We may have had our issues, but shit, I wouldn't kill you. Our prenup was rock solid on both sides. If you divorced me, you wouldn't have gotten shit. Why fucking kill you? Yes, I'm seeing that now. Dude, you believe this guy? He's shady as fuck. Super sus. The connection is thinning. We will summon him again soon. Like fucking hell, you will. Addie, do not summon me again. I have important shit I need to... I'm back in my shower, and the shock sends me reeling. My feet slip out from under me, and I fall backward, my head colliding with the glass wall. Stars fill my eyes, and as I land on my ass, I hear a faint ringing noise. No, wait. It's my phone. The shower has gone cold, so I stand, shivering, turn it off, and hurry out for my towel. Wrapping myself tightly, I find my phone on the vanity. What? Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to be turning yourself in right now. I'm meeting you at your office at seven, Neil. At seven. I'll be there at... It's seven thirty, you asshole! I pull my phone back and look at the time. Holy shit. I lost a couple of hours in the shower. How the fuck did... It all rushes back to me. The table, the candles, the idiots named Eddie and Lisa, that madam, what's her name? Addison? Dean? Dean? Are you there? Do you hear me? Do not come to my office. You need to get your ass down to the courthouse now, or they are sending a fucking SWAT team to arrest you. SWAT? Really? No, not really. But this is fucking serious. Get down to the courthouse. I'll meet you there. Go. Now! He hangs up, and I look back at the shower. A reverse seance? Are you fucking kidding me? I hurry to get ready, and I mount the door in less than twenty. Of course, traffic is a bitch. Nothing new there. So it takes me over an hour to get to the courthouse where Neil is waiting. Come on! He pretty much drags me inside into the magistrate's office, where two detectives I recognize are standing and looking pissed. Hope we didn't inconvenience you, Mr. Dornan. This one is Detective Akers, and his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Too busy nailing one of your assistants to show up on time, Mr. Dornan? His partner, Detective Cobb, joins in because it takes both of their brains to complete a single thought. That's enough, officers. Neil guides me past them to the magistrate's office. Mr. Dean Dornan is here to turn himself in. I am his attorney of record, Neil Lowry. The clerk looks up at us, looks over at the detectives, then back at us. I'm guessing you haven't been booked yet. I've been here for less than five minutes, and the guy is already bored with my situation. Great. We're happy to take him down to the station to do that. No, I made an arrangement with the DA. He's to be processed here and given a bail hearing immediately. That's not how it's usually done. But it can be done, and you will do it. Or should I call the DA right now? Man, call whoever you want. I don't really care. Just have your clients step over there to that counter, and the bailiff will take care of everything. Are you sure you don't want us to take him down to the station? We'll make sure he gets processed accordingly. Processed until he cries for his mother! You two can leave now. Who what? You call the DA? The detectives both laugh. Yeah, you two are obviously close. I'm sure you were the first person he called when the indictment against this piece of shit came in, right, counselor? Acre smacks Cobb's shoulder. Come on, we're done with this trash. The detectives leave, and the bailiff the size of my Tesla comes in. Neil pats me on the back. I'm going to take care of some paperwork while they process you. I'll see you in the courtroom for the bail hearing. You're leaving me? You don't got to be fucking joking, Neil. I can't go with you, Dean. I'll see you in the courtroom. Then he's gone too, leaving me with the annoyed clerk and the Paul Bunyan bailiff. Fine, let's get this shit over with. Four hours later, I'm led into a courtroom where one cadaverous son of a bitch sits on the bench. I know casting directors who would drool over how creepy the judge looks. I may have to get his card after all of this is over. He'd be perfect in a horror movie I'm producing for release next year. Neil is waiting for me, and I walk next to him. You better have a plan. Don't worry, Dean. I have a plan. Dane Dornan, charged with one counter first degree murder, two counts of conspiracy to commit murder, and six counts of larceny. Larceny? What the fuck is that about? They compared the inventory on your insurance policy with what was in the house. Several pieces of jewelry were missing, as well as two pieces of art and half your watch collection. It's all in the report, Dean. You read the report, right? I pay dipshits like you to read reports from me. I don't need to read it, because I wrote the damn report, you moron. You were supposed to read it so that we could... My head rocks back, and my mouth opens wide. I'm screaming my head off when I suddenly appear back on the table, surrounded by candles once again. I stop screaming and look about. No! I was in court! Put me back! Put me back! You went to court in that suit, Dean? Addison shakes her head. Of course you did. It's your power suit. As she uses air quotes, her left hand falls off. Shit! God damn it! You have been returned to us, Dean, because the spirits have spoken. I pointed Eddie and Lisa. I fucking hope Tweedle Dip and Tweedle Shit aren't the spirits, because I wouldn't rely on their opinion if I was you. The great spirits of the ether have spoken, and have concluded that you are innocent of murder. No fucking shit! I could have told you that. Oh wait, I did tell you that! I rubbed my face. So why am I here? You must find who had me killed, Dean. Otherwise, my soul will never be able to rest. Addie Babe, I love you. I do, but you're dead. Get over it. I did. You asshole! Mr. Dornan, you will help find who had your wife killed, or you will be forced to return to these seances time and time again until you pass and join us here. Do you want that, Mr. Dornan? Jesus Christ! Even the dead are using leverage against me. Can't a middle-aged white guy with hundreds of millions of dollars catch a fucking break for once? How many millions we talking here? Hundreds? Shit, Addison. That makes it even more sucky that you died. All that money. I don't care about the money. I care about finding who had me killed. Addison stabs a finger at me, and you will help, Dean. Or I swear to God, I'll have you standing on this table every fucking day for the rest of your fucking sad, pitiful life. Sad? Pitiful? Pitiful? I don't know what you're talking about. You're the dead one, Addie. I'm still living the dream. But for how long, Mr. Dornan? Whatever. I take a deep breath and let it down slowly. Okay. Fine. I'll help you find whoever killed you. Got any clues on where to start? Yes. It has to be someone close. Someone who knew the combination to our safe. No one knows the combination except for you, me, and... I swallow hard as a lump begins to form in my throat. I shake my head. Nah. Can't be. I mean, what would you get out of it? I turn and glare at Madam Ethereal. Some me back. I think I know who it is. Addison, it is up to you. Send it back. But I swear to God, Dean, if you are fucking with me, I will make the rest of your life hell. Well, you're off to a good start. So I believe you, Addison. Now, Madam Serial, give me back to the land of the living. Fine. Be gone. I snap too and scramble up onto my feet. No. Scratch that. I want to scramble up onto my feet. But that's kind of hard, since I seem to be strapped to a bed. A medical bed. Hey! What the fuck is going on? Hello? Hello? I look about and can see I'm in some sort of room. But it's not a hospital room. Not exactly. I've had a couple procedures, and I know what a real hospital room looks like. This ain't it. I strain against the straps. Hey! Anyone there? Hello? The room door opens, and a guy dressed in scrubs peeks in. Oh shit. You finally snapped out of it. I'll get the doctor. Snapped out of what? He leaves without another word. Hey! Where the fuck are you going? I yank at the straps once more, then realize something kind of important. I'm dressed in scrubs too instead of my lucky suit. The door opens again, and a man with a tablet walks in. He looks up from the tablet, smiles at me, then looks back down. Dean Dornan. Presented with acute catatonia during your bail hearing. He looks up again. That's horrid timing. He smiles and returns his attention to the tablet. Oh, I see you're a movie producer. Have you made anything I might have seen? How the fuck would I know what you've seen? Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I? I, Mr. Dornan, and Dr. Alphonse Rosen, the executive director of Doorways, a mental, emotional, and spiritual health facility tucked away in a lovely part of the Sierra Nevadas. You'll love it here. It's quite beautiful. Of course, you will have to be evaluated extensively before your outdoor privileges kick in. Yeah. I don't know what any of that shit you just said, Doc, has anything to do with me. What's going to be evaluated is my foot up your ass if you don't get these fucking straps off my wrists and ankles. And let me call my lawyer! Your lawyer, yes. He's maddeningly unperturbed by the threat of my size 11 going up his butt. A Mr. Neil Lowry. He is the person who had you transferred here from the Jails Hospital ward. My duty is to evaluate you minus a foot in my ass to see if and when you will be stable enough to stand trial. Stable? Stand trial? A thought hits me. What day is it? How long have I been in here? It is November 13th. He looks up in grins. A Friday? How spooky. November 13th? That's bullshit. You're fucking with me. This is a prank, right? This is some set up and I've been pranked. There's no way I've been out of it for three weeks. Closer to four weeks and no, this is not a prank. And yes, you have been out of it that long. I'm actually surprised to see you as aware as you are. Most patients coming out of acute catatonia are listless, confused, barely able to form full sentences. You don't seem to be having that problem, do you, Mr. Dornan? No, I don't. So how about you evaluate me right the fuck out of this hatchways fucking bullshit place? Doorways. It's called doorways. I don't care what it's called. The only call I do care about is the one I'm going to make to my lawyer so he can sue your ass when he gets me free. Oh dear, I may have spoken too soon. You are more confused than I thought, Mr. Dornan. I already told you that it was your lawyer who had you transferred here. He is well aware of your situation and I plan on calling him the moment I leave this room to tell him the good news. He smiles at me and all I want to do is throttle the smug son of a bitch. But unfortunately, what you truly do not understand is that the process cannot be hurried. You cannot will yourself out of here. I expect it will take at least six to eight months for a full evaluation to be completed. After that, well, who knows how many years you will be here before you are well enough to stand trial. My blood runs cold. Did you fucking say years? Are you insane? Me, Mr. Dornan? No, no. I'm not insane. He hugs the tablet to his chest. Now, as for you, that's an entirely different matter. He goes back to the door and knocks. It opens in the same orderly from before it looks in. It smells like Mr. Dornan could use a changing. Let's continue with the diapers until I am certain he won't harm himself or others if allowed to use the restroom on his own. Before I can scream at the two of them, my head rocks back and my mouth opens wide. I'm not even a little surprised to find myself standing on the table again. What the fuck? Get me back there! Some serious shit has gone down. What are you wearing? I don't know. Fucking scrubs are some shit. Sure smells like shit. Fuck off, Eddie! Dean, why are you wearing scrubs? Because I've been committed to some woo-woo fucking nut house in the Sierras. Oh shit, really dude? Man, I miss skiing. Me too. I squat down and Addison draws back a little. Okay. Yeah. I do smell like shit. Listen, the last time you brought me here, weeks went by. Fucking weeks, Addison! Get me back there! Get me back there now before shit gets way worse! She looks past me and I follow her gaze over to Madam Ethereal. Is this possible? Can weeks go by? Time is all relative in the ether. Hours, days, weeks, months, years, none matter here. We are outside of time. Yeah, well, give me the fuck back inside of time or I'm fucked. Do you know who had me killed? Do I know who? No. I don't fucking know who had you killed. Then fuck off and find out, Dean. Madam Ethereal snaps her fingers. I'm back in the fucking doorway's room. And I'm being given a sponge bath by a man who looks like he played linebacker for UCLA. Not my first fucking choice, I'll tell you that. After freaking out and jumping around, I stay perfectly still. What day is it? The orderly looks up at me, sets the sponge in the water basin he's using, sets the basin on a cart next to my bed, gets up and walks out. You could have just said you didn't know! The door opens almost immediately and in walks Dr. Smug-as-fuck with his Smug-as-fuck smile. Welcome back, Mr. Gornan. How are you feeling? Well, I'm naked and strapped to a hospital bed, so you know, kind of mid, if I'm being honest. He nods. Ah, sarcasm. That's a good sign. Great. Glad I could be of service. Now, how about you do me a fucking solid and tell me what day it is? January 21st. You went away for several weeks, Mr. Gornan. And how does all worried? Okay, well, I'm not going away again anytime soon. So how about you call my lawyer and get his ass in here so I can have a chat with him and sort all this shit out? Can you do that, Doc? Oh yes, I could do that, but I do not plan to. There's no need. He's coming by this afternoon. He lifts his arm and looks at his watch. Oh, in about 90 minutes actually. Hold the fuck on. I lift myself up as much as the straps will allow and try to get a better look at the doctor's wrist. Would you get that watch? This? He shakes his wrist. Oh, it was a gift from a friend. Yeah, a gift to me from my friend. That's my fucking watch. The doctor shrugs. We take all sorts of payment here in doorways, including stolen watches, because I swear that's one of the ones that went missing from my fucking house the night my wife was killed. Is it? Oh, how awful. You'll have to take that up with your lawyer when he arrives. After all, he's the one who gave it to me. You fucking asshole. I'm not getting out of this place, am I? Probably not. No. He gives me a wave. I'll have the orderly finish bathing you and getting you dressed so you are presentable to your lawyer. I'll present my foot. Up his. Fucking forget it. I sigh as he leaves. I sigh when the linebacker comes in and finishes washing my junk. I sigh as he somehow manages to get me dressed in scrubs while keeping me strapped to the bed. It's quite a magic trick. I even sigh when the door opens later and in walks my fucking lawyer. Dean, fuckface. Ah, come on, don't be like that. Be like what? Pissed that you fucking put me in this place? Pissed that you stole my shit and killed my fucking wife? Is that the like what that you're talking about? I have no idea what you're talking about, Dean. But don't you worry, you're in good hands here at Doorways. Dr. Rosen promises to keep you here until you are well again, no matter how long that takes. Why, Neil? Can you tell me that? Why are you doing this? He thanks for a moment, Ben. Legally brunette. Legally what now? Legally brunette. The script I wrote and gave you. You mean the legally blonde rip-off? It wasn't a rip-off. It was an homage. You fucking gave it the same name, just changed the hair color. It was a good script. It was fucking garbage, Neil, and you should have never given it to me. There was no way it was going to be produced by me or by any other self-respecting producer in this fucking town. Well, that's where you're wrong. It's in production now. I'm self-funding it. You? Jesus, Neil. I know you gouge all of your clients, but there's no way you have that kind of capital. Where are you getting the money? He smiles and says nothing. Neil, where are you getting the money? Do you remember when you and Addison were having troubles last year? Have you changed your power of attorney from her to me? Giving me full control of your estate if you were to become incapacitated. What? No. I don't fucking remember that. Yes, well, you should really read everything someone puts in front of you to sign, Dean. You're my fucking lawyer! Still, it's best to read before you sign. I shake my head over and over and over. No. No fucking way. No, you can't do this. You can't fucking expose you. I'll testify in court at my trial that you did it, that you killed Addison, that you stole everything from me. Okay, Dean, you do that. I'm sure you'll be all fine and ready for trial and about, oh, say, never. But I'll have to consult Dr. Rosen about the specific timeline. And that man does love a good timeline. He even has your watches to prove it. You motherfucker! My head rocks back and my mouth opens wide. I don't even have to say anything when I'm back on the table. I just sit down, almost knocking over a few of the candles. You know who did it? Yup. Who? Who do you think? Tell me, Dean! Neil. You're a lawyer? Yup. Why? Money. Money? Money? The man is rich! Money to produce his screenplay. She shakes her head. You don't mean that off illegally blonde ripoff! Yup. Addison fumes. Then she smiles and looks past me to Madame Ethereal. I think we should have a talk with Mr. Neil Lowry, don't you, Madame Ethereal? All I need is his full name and a general location where he can be found, but mostly just his name. Wait, what? What are you talking about? We'll bring Neil here and have him explain himself. You're done, Dean. No more seances for you. Thank you for finding out who killed me. Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can bring anyone here? Like anyone? Madame Ethereal nods. Which means you can totally fuck their lives up, too? She pauses the nods again. And all you need are full names and general locations. She nods one more time. My grin. Lady, have I got a list for you? First, there's this fucking doctor named Rosen.