Act V

Someone is reproducing all the Bard's famous death scenes in real life.

He lifted the wine goblet to the lips of the silent man in the leather chair. “More? No…well it might help ease the pain from that little nick you’ve got there in your belly.” As if unaware of Claude’s unwillingness to drink more, he tipped the glass upward watching as rivulets of wine poured from the corners of the man’s mouth.

Claude let his eyes drift slowly to the middle of his torso where the hilt of a sixteenth century long sword protruded from his muscled abdomen, blood flowering out from the wound, mingling with the spilled wine, forming a scarlet sunburst on his starched white button-down. Still he said nothing. He couldn’t. A low groan escaped his lips before his shoulders slumped further down, his head dangling to one side, his eye-lids giving up the battle to remain open.

“Well, then, I guess you’ll be joining your brother now, won’t you. I hope you’ll give him my best.”

Director Glynnis Nuckolls is finding out that the real thing is not nearly as much fun as the play, itself. Unfortunately, her psychic ability is giving her a first-hand view.

Glynnis jerked upward in bed doing everything in her power to catch her breath! Waking in this panicked state was a problem that occurred only once in a while. But what had brought on this sudden anxiety?

She rewound her night. She’d gone to bed, fallen asleep reading, then…the dream. This was the second night Glynnis had woken from the same dream this week. There was a man, a dead man who had a familiar face but Glynnis couldn’t place him, and there was a disembodied voice. Well, it wasn’t exactly disembodied. She could see the man, but only in shadow, not clearly enough to make out features. There was also a sword, a lot of blood, and wine.

What's worse is that everyone thinks she's imagining it, except for one man, Detective Brice Gearheart. Can Brice and Glynnis find the murderer before he finds Glynnis?