Episode 3 | Bewitched - scene 5

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Celia Grey's Apartment

Celia Grey is reclining on her sofa in front of the tv, a patchwork quilt is over her lap and balancing on her knees is a volume of Weiss' psychosomatic illnesses.  An opened bottle of claret and a wine glass sit on the coffee table.  She is reading up on the possible causes of her dysgeusia – the bad taste in her mouth.  It had taken at least 48 hours after that episode at the book fair for anything to taste somewhat normal and not like a can of cat food. Celia felt around the waistline of her pants. They were definitely looser, she guessed she must have lost at least 10 pounds from hardly eating anything over the weekend. "Huh! Psychosomatic weight loss – I could be onto something here," she mumbles to herself.  She refused to believe the bullshit that the Whittle woman was trying to sell her about Lilith LaVey, but she did think that one of them, she was not sure which one of them, had somehow planted the suggestion in her head.  It bothered her that she could not find an explanation in her books and thought of calling in a favour with one of her old college professors. Maybe that call can wait until morning she thinks as she yawns and stretches. Weary, she rubs her eyes and turns on the tv with the remote. 

On the screen is a documentary about Stonehenge and a coven of modern-day practitioners of witchcraft. "Pssh – fucking witches!" she scoffs.  She clicks again and there's a news interview with Louise Huebner, touted as the official witch of Los Angeles. Celia frowns, "Jesus Christ! Is there anything on the box tonight that isn't about witches?"

Click – the New York Dramatic Conservatory's production of The CrucibleClick - Mama Cass Elliot is belting out a song as Witch Hazel in HR Puffinstuff  - Click – Margaret Hamilton as the witch of the west is terrorizing Judy Garland in the Wizard of OzClick – in Dark Shadows Barnabas Collins is battling the witch Angelique.  She shakes the remote control as if the fault in the programming lies there. "What is this shit!" Celia is starting to panic now, too many coincidences – Click - Gene Shalit on NBC's Today show is doing movie reviews.

"Finally!" Celia settles back into the sofa, listening to Gene introduce his next guest Orson Wells.  Celia is enjoying listening to the dulcet tones of Mr Wells when he starts to discuss his 1972 film, The Witching. "God dammit, no way!" Celia protests and clicks again.

Bewitched is on. Samantha Stevens wiggles her nose, and a bumbling Aunt Clara falls down the chimney covered in soot. Celia laughs. "Well, at least this is kinda funny." Aunt Clara reminds her of Miriam Whittle, they both have that scatty, awkward demeanour.  She decides to give up clicking and continues to watch, enjoying the light humour.  Aunt Clara manages to conjure an elephant which poops in the living room right before an important dinner guest arrives at the Stevens' house. Celia laughs louder. Aunt Clara suddenly turns to the screen, her eyes seem to lock onto Celia's as she remarks testily, "I don't know what you're laughing for!"  Celia's laughter dies down, her expression of amusement is replaced by one of puzzlement. Now Samantha turns to her, "Yes - shame on you Celia, you've forgotten all about the cause!"

"What the fuck!" Celia clicks the tv off and throws the remote on the floor as though she were handling a hot potato.  "Either I'm losing my mind or wine does not agree with me anymore." She tries to breathe but is too panicked.

She does what she advises her anxiety patients to do and counts backwards from ten, with eyes closed. With each exhalation, she becomes calmer, and her breathing is now under control. At the count of one she has achieved a state of Zen.  She exhales slowly and opens her eyes to the concerned faces of Aunt Clara and Samantha watching her from the TV. "Do you feel any better now, dear?" Aunt Clara enquires.

The harsh ring of the telephone causes Celia to jump and scream, "Sweet Jesus!!" She turns and fumbles with the handset. Hardly anyone knows her private number and wonders who could be ringing her apartment, especially at this late hour. "H-h-hello?" she glances furtively over at the TV which thankfully now has a blank screen.

"Is this Dr Celia Grey?" a clipped female voice on the other end enquires.

"Yes, this is she.  Who's speaking please?"

"It's Patricia Graham , I'm the senior psychiatric nurse at the LA Mental Health Care Centre.  I'm calling about a patient of yours you admitted here – Lorraine Jaxon?"

"What is it? Is she alright?"

"Well, we don't know exactly."

"What do you mean, you don't know!"

"At the 11pm checks she was found missing from her cell."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Celia replaces the receiver with a shaking hand.

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