When the sunshine dappled itself through the window and across his body, he certainly didn't expect to feel it. But he did - he could feel its warmth. He hadn’t had this kind of wonderful feeling for a long time because, well frankly, he was dead.

At first, he could feel the sunlight against his eyelids. As it became stronger, he couldn’t resist slowly opening his eyes, squinting as the world came back. He could breathe in the fresh air again from where he now sat, on the floor of the George Gershwin theater on Broadway.

He laid on the floor thinking about what to do. Here was Joe Geller, a once Broadway actor with no reputation. He had died three years earlier in a car accident to no particular fanfare from his theatrical peers or audiences.

Before he could raise his body, he heard collision sounds of someone coming through. As the footsteps moved closer, he slowly moved his body to sit and then stood up. He could sustain his body movements again.

“Hi…um…Joe here? Joe Geller?” A voice called from the doorway.

Oh, someone was calling him. Who was it? David Cooper - his old friend and backstage manager.

“Hi. David…? I’m here.”

“There’s the thing. Your play begins in an hour. What are you wearing? Where is your costume? Hurry!!”

Joe ignored him and focused, instead, on the pressing question at hand. “How did you know I was here?”

“The director told me to find you.” David looked bemused.

Joe continued, “But, aren’t I dead?”

“How could you be dead? You’re here – very much alive. I can touch you!” The stage manager pinched Joe on the arm.

“I don’t know.” Joe shook his head in hopes that the fog within it would clear, and he’d realize exactly what was going on here. David, very busy, was unconcerned by Joe’s confusion and went about his business calling the other actors’ names as he cleared the room and went down the hallway.

Of course Joe was beginning to doubt his own sanity but of course this line of reverie ended suddenly upon hearing David shout his name again.

“Get into costume, Joe!”

So he did just that – he followed the old routine, got himself ready for his debut and then entered the director’s office where he found Frank Peterson sitting, as usual, behind his desk.

“Hello, Frank.”

Frank didn’t look up from his desk.

“May I borrow your copy of the script?”

Still without looking up, Frank murmured, “On the table.”

“Which table?”

“The table where the scripts are put. Obviously.”

Joe shifted his gaze just as the director shouted, “Don’t forget the lines while you are acting again! Otherwise, your job is on the line!”

And with that, Joe knew exactly where, or rather, when he was. Today, he would be killed in a car accident before debuting in Agatha Christie’s: “And Then There Were None.” He had worked his entire career for that role, but fate had dealt him a bitter hand.

Now, with a second chance, he would seize the opportunity. In those moments, the script, which he had prepared tirelessly for weeks, came flooding back to him. When the director called him to his position on stage, Joe was ready.

He took a deep breath and walked out to his audience. The curtain raised.

Now, he was not Joe Geller but instead, was Mr. Justice Wargrave sitting in a first- class-smoking carriage that hurried him and its passengers to Soldier Island on the South Devon coast. He could see the audience beyond the fourth wall: young and old, tall and short, thin and fat. All looking at him.

Scenes eventually changed, and Joe Geller changed along with them – seamlessly performing his role, accruing enthusiasm from his fellow actors. When the play ended, the crowd rewarded him and his peers with a standing ovation. As all the actors stood and bowed on that stage, Joe felt a surge of pride and hope in his future, until a shadow abruptly interrupted his triumph. It came nearer and nearer, but no one else seemed to notice it.

When the curtains came down again, blocking the actors from their adoring fans, Joe Geller could only look at the contours of the ‘shadow’ that was now standing in front of him.

It was Joe’s own Justice - Satan, here to bring him home.

“It’s time.”

“No. I’m not leaving.”

“You are dead. Reality will not keep you.”

Memories pushed through Joe’s defiance as he stared back at Satan. Memories of that night. Of losing control of his car. Of the bottles in his house now emptied. Of his nerves and his addictions. Of the wife and daughter in the other car. The reality crashed back upon him like a wave.

“This is your hell, Joe. You do not get what you want. You see what you could have had and then it is ripped away from you. Over and over again. We’ve been here before.”

With this heavy dose of truth, Joe’s spirit guide grabbed his hand. Our Broadway actor took his first and final bow on the stage, and slipped back into unconsciousness until he would be ready to do it all over again. And again. And again.