Otis – unsolicited

Epiphany of a Ghost

Nightman

     // idea created: Nov 30, 2025
     // idea finished: Dec 6, 2025
     // revisions: 2
     // chapters: 4

I'd like to preface this by stating that I do not consider myself an author, nor do I have the interest or will ever have the interest to write a novel. To conclude, I'll be writing dialogue in screenplay format for no reason other than the fact that I feel like it. Chapter One Royal Blue, Oak Wood I thought I knew what I was signing up for back in '89 when I went to UCI for undergrad. Even more so when I got my PhD in Clinical Psychology from UCLA in '97. Dr. Nicholas Deacon. Sounds good, doesn't it? Still, I thought I knew.. January 3rd, 2003. Telluride, Colorado. My office was on the second floor, Suite 207, a small intimate room with no more than a pair of loungers, a desk, bookshelf and a jug of water. I sat in my office having just finished a session with a patient and had ten minutes to spare before another one of my particular patients stepped in. I grabbed the patient's folder from my desk and opened it to last weeks session notes for a refresh: ------------------------------------------------------------------ Clinician: Dr. Nicholas Deacon Patient: Otis Phillips Date of Service: December 27, 2002 Duration: 45 Minutes Subjective: the patient, a 42 year old adult, reports feeling a deep sense of loneliness while comparing himself to peers. He states, "Everyone's got a family. I've tried and I've tried but nothing is working. I think I might be doomed." His frustration mostly stems from internal comparison to life expectations. Objective: the patient arrived ten minutes late and appeared anxious and distraught. Mood was predominantly sad with an overwrought effect. The patient displayed signs of emotional fatigue. Assessment: the patient is presenting symptoms of increased emotional distress tied to perceived deviation from typical life milestones and expectations of conventionality. Persistent sadness. Desire for genuine connection. Negative self-perception. Plan: continue using cognitive restructuring to explore internalized expectations. Introduce exercises to promote self-compassion and normalize diverse life paths. Develop a coping strategy that includes self-care practices to manage emotional distress and discuss patient's values regarding connection to identify realistic steps toward building social support. Review triggers around comparison and practice anchoring techniques during emotional surges. ------------------------------------------------------------------ From an outside perspective, Otis had a better life than most. A good job, his own place, his own car - but he certainly had challenges within himself. He'd constantly bring himself down, specifically the way he interacted with women he was interested in. He often stressed a desire to be "normal" like everyone else but, despite the struggles, he was kind and compassionate and often brought muffins to the office. He arrived three minutes late to the session, something I'd already been accustomed to by that point. I greeted him, offered him water, indulged in small talk and we sat on the loungers. He was unexpectedly calm, something that didn't come often, but I noticed an underlying sense of urgency from him. His eyes darted around the office as if he were searching for something. Nicholas Otis? Otis Huh? Nicholas Something on your mind? Otis No, no. I just - I can't remember if I locked the front door to my home, you know? The home with the royal blue, oak wood front door. Nicholas Of course, I remember. Your neighbor, Ms. Watson, was it? Otis Ms. Watson.. Nicholas If you happen to have her number you could give her a call, have her check for you. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Otis Oh. Well. I don't think Ms. Watson is speaking with me anymore. Nicholas Would you like to talk about it? Otis nervously laughed. Otis Well.. I might've.. I'm afraid I might've crossed the line with Ms. Watson. Nicholas In what way? Otis Well, I was watching America's Funniest Home Videos, you know? The funny videos of people being funny. Nicholas Sure. Otis I was laying down and I heard a knock at my door, so I got up. I opened the door, and there she was, Ms. Watson, holding a batch of homemade cookies that she made for me. I mean, she could have made them for anyone else in the neighborhood, there's plenty of people around the block. But she made them for me. Nicholas Sure. Otis And I tried them. And they were really, really good. And well.. He looked off and dug his fingernails into his scalp. Otis I kissed her. Nicholas Oh. Otis I know, I know. I'm stupid. I probably shouldn't have done that. Nicholas How did Ms. Watson feel about you kissing her? Otis Oh boy. She was ANGRY. Gave me a real good slap across the face. Nicholas And how did you feel about her slapping you? Otis Like a fool. I thought, you know? Cookies. She made them for me. Am I wrong? I paused for a brief moment. Nicholas It's okay to feel that way. But that doesn't make you stupid, you didn't know. People's intentions can vary depending on their angle. The gesture to bring you homemade cookies can be out of kindness, or goodwill, or sometimes it's something more. Otis I thought it was something more. But Ms. Watson didn't think so. Nicholas I see. If, in the future, you find yourself confused in that kind of situation again, you might find that checking in verbally can make these things clearer. It might help to prevent misunderstandings, before any kind of physical contact. Otis I'm sorry, Mr. Deacon. Nicholas No need to be sorry, Otis. We all make mistakes. That's what life is. We live and we learn, right? He agreed. For the remaining forty-or-so minutes of the session we explored his desire for a meaningful long-term committed relationship. To be quite frank, he was desperate. He swung into a fit of overwhelming tears and stress and anger on the matter, and I felt for him. How could I not? I wanted to believe there was someone out there in the world for him, someone who would accept him for who he is. But if you asked me to lay my right hand on the bible and swear before God - I'd perish. Nicholas Finding compatibility can take time. But I believe it's possible for you to find it. Otis You're right, Mr. Deacon. I just need to be a little more patient is all. He looked over to a framed photograph I had sitting on my desk of my wife and children. His eyes were glued to it, a longing for "what can be" sitting deep inside of them. Otis You have a beautiful family, Mr. Deacon. I hope to have one like yours some day. Our time was up and we said our goodbye's. Chapter Two Dinner at the Deacon's Friday night. 08:33 PM. My beautiful wife of thirteen years, Veronica, made her famous fettuccine pasta that night. She was an excellent cook, even had her own Italian restaurant just a couple of blocks from the house. We had ourselves two children. Lauren and Zachery. And in three months time we'd be welcoming a third into the family. The table was set and we all sat. The kids cracked jokes, as always, and I occasionally excused myself to swap the record on our record player. That night was a 'Kind of Blue' kind of night. It felt appropriate and added a sense of serenity as thunder clashed and rain poured outside of our windows. What more can a man want than to have dinner with his wife and kids who are all in good health and good spirit? There wasn't much more I could have asked for. That was it. We were about halfway into our plates when it happened. A knock at the door. Though, I didn't bother at first. The thunderstorm was too brutal for anyone to be out at this time of night. I figured the wind might've knocked over one of the statues sitting on the porch. Then, another knock. My wife glanced at me, worried. Veronica Is someone knocking? Nicholas I think so. I'll go see who it is. Veronica Look through the peep-hole first, honey. So I did. The peep-hole was blurry and streaked with rain and made it difficult to recognize the figure standing on the porch. Nevertheless, I undid the latch and opened the door. Nicholas Otis? Otis. He stood there shivering, completely drenched from head to toe, only wearing a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. His shirt was so thin it looked as if he were wrapped in papier-mâché. He was clutching a cardboard box in his hands that was caving in on itself. Otis Hey, Mr. Deacon. I'm really sorry about this. But I couldn't wait until Monday. Nicholas What are you doing here? Otis I have a box of muffins for you. I was going to give them to you in our last session, but I had forgotten them at home. You understand, right? This was impingement. He was blurring the lines between clinician and patient and it was all too much to take in at once. The fact that he was standing on my porch at that time of night during a thunderstorm, or rather standing on my porch in any circumstance, made that a significant breach of professional boundaries and a potential threat to not only myself, but to my family as well. It was so cold outside that he was starting to turn purple. I didn't want to let him in, especially with my family inside, but if I hadn't, I was afraid he might not have made it to sunrise. Nicholas Come in. It's freezing. Let's get you dry. Otis That's alright. I think I'll walk back home. It's only a thirty minute walk. Nicholas No. You'll freeze to death. Come in. Hurry. Veronica (O.S.) Honey, who is it? My wife appeared at the door stunned at the sight of Otis. Otis Hi, Mrs. Deacon. Nice to finally meet you. Nicholas A patient of mine. Let's get him some towels. Veronica Okay. She hurried off into the laundry as I ushered Otis into the living room. Otis I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Deacon. Nicholas It's okay, Otis. (to kids) Kids? It's time to shower. Go get ready for bed. They stared at Otis from the dining room and couldn't bring themselves to move. He was trembling violently and I suppose it really scared them. Nicholas Now. They slid out of their chairs and, without averting their eyes from him, they swiftly ran up the staircase. Veronica stumbled in from the laundry with a handful of towels and we quickly covered Otis in them. She shot me a look - what the fuck? and I shrugged, just as blindsided as she was. There was only one question lingering in my mind: how does he know where I live? I sat him down on our sofa as Veronica went into the kitchen. Otis You know, you're a real good friend, Mr. Deacon. "Friend." I didn't like that. For one, it isn't bad in a moral sense. But it really can be harmful to the clinical work. I wanted to avoid playing two roles as a "friend' and a "clinician," because ultimately it can exploit the patient even if done unintentionally. I suppose I could lay a list of other reasons to justify my argument, but truth be told, hearing that from Otis, in the comfort of my own home, just really made me feel uneasy. I had no choice but to brush it off. Veronica returned from the kitchen with a cup of hot chocolate and handed it to Otis. We sat across him in silence for a moment as the rain from the overcast pelted against our windows and the night slipped into a rift of stranger. Otis This is really good. Thank you, Mrs. Deacon. No one's ever made me hot chocolate before. Veronica No worries. Otis Shit, I'm so sorry. I forgot about the towels. Thank you. They're really warm. How did you know my favorite color was blue? My wife just so happened to grab my son's blue towels from the laundry, which really didn't help, but I didn't hold her to it. How could she have known? Veronica Oh. I.. I didn't. Otis Hmm. That's okay. You know now. That's all that matters. Veronica forced a smile and her body went rigid. I could tell she was uncomfortable. She glanced at me and whispered - Veronica I'm gonna' go check on the kids. She stood and Otis couldn't take his eyes off of her pregnant waist. I really pierced my eyes into him at this point, feeling defensive about it. Otis Please, give them my regards. Veronica stopped, forced another smile and nodded. At this point of thirteen years of marriage I could practically look into my wife's eyes and interpret exactly what they were insinuating without her having to say a word. And in that moment as she glanced at me, they were screaming, "get him out NOW". I shifted my attention to Otis. Nicholas Otis. Why are you here? Otis I had to give you the muffins. I couldn't stop thinking about them. Nicholas What I mean is.. how do you know where I live? He scratched his head and went into thought. Otis How do I know where you live.. well, you must've told me in one of our sessions. Nicholas No. That's unlikely. I don't give out that kind of information to my patients. I would've known if I did. Long beat. Otis began biting down on his lips. Otis Okay, okay. You got me, Mr. Deacon. I lied. I'm sorry. I - I followed you home from the office a couple of weeks ago. ... Nicholas Why would you follow me? Otis Are you mad at me? I was fuming inside. Nicholas No. I'm just trying to understand why is all. Otis Mmm. I guess I just thought it would be nice to finally meet the family, you know? The more I looked at the photo you have of them in your office, the closer I felt to you all. I tried keeping my composure, but it was turning into something far worse than I imagined. Two things were clear: Impaired boundary recognition. Stalking-like behavior. Now I didn't want to assume any more than that so I had no choice but to let it go.. for now. I'd come to the conclusion that I would speak on it further with him in my office on Monday morning. It was getting late and there was no other option but to drive him home myself. Nicholas Okay. I understand now. It's getting late. We should get you home now. We'll speak more about it on Monday, alright? Otis Sure thing. Monday. Sounds good with me. Nicholas Alright. I'm gonna' run upstairs and grab a jacket for the both of us. Wait here for a moment. Otis You got it, Mr. Deacon. So I went upstairs, grabbed two jackets, kissed my wife, got into the car with Otis and we made our way out into the brutal downpour of a thrashing thunderstorm. Chapter Three When It Rains, It Pours It was one of those rainy nights that you avoid. The kind of rainy night that turns cement to sludge and mist to clouds. I was barely able to see the lane markings, my headlights only able to break five feet into the thick mist. Otis was in the passenger giving directions, and although I was doubtful given the circumstances, he seemed confident. Nicholas You sure this is the right way? Otis Well, it sure looks like the road I took to get to your house. It was only until then that something occurred to me. Nicholas Otis.. you have your own car, don't you? Otis That's right. I've got a Prius. Nicholas How come you didn't drive to my house? Why did you walk in a thunderstorm? Otis That would've been nice. It surely would've saved me a lot of trouble. Nicholas Well.. why didn't you? Otis It's a long story, really. Fact of the matter is, I totaled it. And now it's gone. Poof. Gone with the wind. He seemed way too nonchalant about crashing his car, something I thought to be a sign of acute dissociation. Otis You know, I gotta say. You really outdid yourself, Mr. Deacon. Nicholas What do you mean? Otis Your wife, Veronica. She's a very nice looking woman. And your kids, what are their names? Nicholas That's something I can't share with you, Otis. I'm sorry. Otis Why not? Nicholas Part of my job, as your therapist, is to maintain a professional boundary. You understand, right? Otis Sure, yeah. I guess. But I've already met your family. Don't you think there's something to that? Nicholas That's right, you did. But you weren't supposed to. ... Otis Can I ask you something? Nicholas Sure. Otis Are we.. friends? Absolutely not. It was starting to feel like he was opening a doorway into dependency. And it made sense why he would. Patients tend to think of therapists as their primary emotional outlets instead of friends or family, or etc. But that kind of emotional reliance isn't sustainable. Therapy is temporary and I felt I had to make that very clear to him. Nicholas In a traditional sense - no. Our relationship is more of a therapeutic one rather than a friendship. It's important for it to be that way for your well-being. You get what I'm trying to say? I glanced at him - he was stern, quiet, staring coldly out of the front windshield with no response. Otis Take a right here. I looked ahead, my vision still partially impaired from the fog, and failed to see a cross way. Nicholas There's no turn here. Otis It's coming. He coldly remarked, and he was right. I slowed and spun the wheel, careful not to veer sharply on the slippery roads. I glanced at him again - his eyes now peering out of the passenger window and his back turned against me. It was as if a bad taste of apathy came over him. He had disassociated himself and, for my own sake, I decided not to indulge in further dialogue with him. The rainfall grew progressively heavier and slammed the roof of the car like a machine gun. The weather was ruthless. At one point I was sure the car would tip over from the brutal gust of winds. Otis You really don't understand how lucky you are, do you, Mr. Deacon? The shift in his tone went flat and my heart skipped a beat. Nicholas How so? Otis You take for granted everything you have because you already have it. It's not.. fair. He turned to face me and revealed tears pouring down his face. He was seething and clenching his teeth so hard his cheek bones were practically protruding through his skin. I was utterly vulnerable and was careful to choose my next words. Nicholas I understand why you're upset, Otis, I do. But I think the best way to - In the blink of an eye he hurled himself over to my side and yanked the steering wheel towards him. There was no time for me to contest it, the car had already lost traction and begun to spiral out of control and all I could do was brace and pray. BANG! The impact was so severe it sent my head crashing into the steering wheel knocking me senseless. I was disoriented for some time, a shrilling whine pierced my ears and my vision was momentarily blinded. Rivulets of blood began flooding into my eyes from a small cut on my forehead and I wiped them away. I glanced at my bloody palm, and for some reason, the sight of it launched me into lucidity. I undid the belt buckle, pulled the door handle and threw myself out stumbling into puddles of muddy water. The wind had been taken out of me and I took a moment to recompose myself. My recollection of what had happened began to resurface and, as I shot a look into the car, I noticed the front passenger seat was empty, and the windshield had been broken. Shit. Otis. I forced my aching body upright and staggered back to my feet and peered at the damage on the car. The front bumper was caved in to the trunk of an oak tree and the engine was up in smoke, absolutely battered. Shit. I wondered around searching for Otis, the only explanation from what I'd seen of the front windshield was that he'd flown out of the window on impact. But it was incredibly hard to see, the rain poured hard and fast, and the fog was thick and overwhelming. I searched and searched but came up empty handed. I'd come to the conclusion that there was no choice but to leave him behind, as much as it pained me. It was ten below zero, my fingers were starting to numb and soon enough I too would be a lost cause if I didn't make my way home. I quickly grabbed a compass that I kept for emergencies in the center console, made one last unsuccessful effort to find Otis, and made my way east. Chapter Four Epiphany of a Ghost BlackMist Storm. It was the worst thunderstorm we had in Telluride that year. The winds reached up to 55mph, the flooding had risen as high as six inches, and I was in the thick of it. Tired. Cold. On the verge of calling it quits. I'd been traveling east for half an hour by that time, getting tossed around like a useless rag doll by the current. My fingers and toes were fully numb and there was barely any grease left in my joints. Although I was quite literally on the brink of death, my thoughts were with Otis. I hadn't processed his death yet. I couldn't fathom the fact that one of my patients was dead. I even felt a sense of guilt - the guilt of not having stuck around a minute or two longer to continue searching for him, the guilt of his death resulting on the foundations that I had built for myself. It was deeply saddening and all too surreal. But I really had done all I could do for him, and that, in some way, put me at ease. Ten minutes had passed. I felt the pain of a thousand needles pierce through my body with each step I'd taken. My breath was coming slow and I'd already accepted the fact that I was lost. One more step.. one more step.. I urged my body. I was searching for any ounce of hope left in me and was pleading to the skies for a miracle.. and to my relief, I found it. A faint glow emitted through the fog and I caught a second wind. In a surge of desperation, I mustered up whatever will was left in me and made a b-line for the soft shimmer up ahead. I ran, and ran, and ran so fast that at one point I heard the sound barrier break, and eventually, I stumbled onto a two way lane. It was the only thing that separated me from my house, which so happened to be right across the street from where I stood. I wasted no time and stumbled my way across the road. I climbed the porch steps, knocked on the door, let out a cry of relief, and waited. I heard shuffling inside and stood there a moment longer just before the bolt unlatched and the door swung wide. In that moment as I lifted my eyes from the floor I recalled a time when I was ten. My father and I had gone on a camping trip in the San Juan Mountain Region, and on a cold snowy evening, we had gone too far off route and found ourselves lost for three hours that lead us well into nightfall. We eventually made it back to base, but quickly returned into town to the emergency room to be treated for moderate hypothermia. That feeling was all too familiar while I was standing on the porch. I was sure I had moderate to sever hypothermia, and while it usually takes a day or two of heated blankets and warm IV fluids to recover, in that moment as the door swung open, it felt as if steam were seeping through the pores of my skin, and no longer were my extremities numb. Otis Nicholas? Otis stood at the door and appeared just as stunned as I was. Otis What are you doing here? There's no way.. he's supposed to be dead.. I thought. Yet, there he was, completely dry, dressed in my attire and wearing my shoes. Otis Nicholas? You okay? I was speechless. We glanced at each other without blink until we were interrupted. Veronica (O.S.) Who is it, honey? Veronica appeared from around the corner and I nearly burst into tears of joy. Nicholas Veronica.. I took a step towards her and she recoiled. She seemed unsettled and I didn't understand why. Otis held a barrier between us with his arm and I was one second away from amputating it. Otis Honey, go get the kids ready for a bath, will you? Veronica Otis.. Otis It's okay. Nicholas is one of my patients. We're just going to have ourselves a chat. I'll be up in a minute. She looked at me like I was some sort of intruder. My own wife, terrified at the sight of me. What's going on? Why doesn't she recognize me? And why did Otis refer to me as his patient? I had no answers. But I pleaded further. Nicholas Veronica.. it's me, Nicholas, your husband. That frightened her even more. She grimaced as though I was some kind of madman. Veronica (frightened) Otis.. Otis Alright, I think it's actually time for you to leave, Nicholas. You shouldn't be here at my home. That sent me into a full swing of fury. Nicholas Your home? Your home?! Otis Take it easy, Nicholas. Nicholas Are you out of your mind? You're in MY home. Wearing MY clothes. And YOU want ME to LEAVE? You're supposed to be dead. You died out there. You died in that storm. Beat. Otis Died?.. I'm standing right here. A thought came over me that I never in a million years would have considered, and for good reason. Nicholas But you died. You died.. in the storm.. didn't you? The looks on their faces suggested that I was being outright nonsensical, that I'd been spitting absurdity out of my mouth. And a part of me was starting to believe them. Otis I've been here all night, having dinner with my family. What do you think happened out there, Nicholas? Long beat. Nicholas I was driving you home. You pulled the wheel, and we spun out. You - you flew out of the window. I'm sure of it. And I - I'm not your patient. That's impossible.. because, you are my patient, Otis. You've been my patient for nearly two years now. Otis narrowed his eyes as if coming to a realization of some sort. Otis These.. experiences and beliefs that you claim to be true.. I'm afraid they're false. Don't say it. Don't you dare say it.. Otis Nicholas. If I'm not mistaken.. it seems to me that what you might be experiencing is - Nicholas Delusional misidentification. ... Otis That's right. I believe that's what you're experiencing right now in this moment. I was afraid he'd say that but still, I was in denial. Why would I believe him? I remembered everything - from the camping trip with my dad, to the time I received my doctorate, to the 2,700 hours of supervised clinical hours that followed; to the day I met my wife Veronica, the day I proposed, the day we got married, and all else that followed - I remembered everything. It was all too vivid to believe that it was just a figment of my imagination. Otis I understand how you might be feeling right now. And I know that something like this can be very challenging to get through - but I'm sorry, Nicholas. I can't help you right now. We can speak more about this on Monday, in our session. I'm afraid you have to go now. You understand? I stood quiet, clinging to denial. It can't be.. Otis Please, get home safe, Nicholas. I had one last look at Veronica and saw in her eyes that she was looking back at a complete stranger. Otis finally gathered the courage to close the door, and I let it happen. What had just transpired was all too much to absorb, too much for my senses to bear. I reluctantly made my way down the porch steps, and as I was doing so, an epiphany that was simple, yet defining, came over me: It was to my benefit, or perhaps misfortune, to retreat and disappear into the eye of the storm, believing in a complete fabrication of my own making, than to ground myself to the reality that I had deceived myself, and to carry on in this world with the weight of what once was..

Had I given myself more time, I would’ve liked to polish it up some more, specifically the last chapter. It just feels like Nicholas gave it all up so quick. His whole life, everything he had, and he surrendered it to Otis of all people? Whether this “delusional fantasy” Nicholas confronted was true or not, there’s no way he wouldn’t have put up a tougher fight, right? Still, it’s better than the original ending I initially had. Nicholas was supposed to barge in, kill Otis, and run off into the thunderstorm. What a fucking disaster. Most of my early work as a screenwriter consisted of stories that were just as melodramatic. I’m just relieved that I’m now able to catch myself doing it before putting words on the page. Other than that, I wish I had more time to really study the way psychologists speak with their patients. I would’ve preferred the dialogue between the two parties to be more accurate, or more natural if you will. But, it is what it is. My main goal with these short stories, really, is to focus on the quality of the writing – to dish out as much quality as I can while constricting myself to a pressing deadline.