One man wallows in grief for a murdered wife. One is slipping away into the bipolar blues. They meet when their moods dictate, speak bluntly to each other, talk about books or music, eat some take-out, and go their separate ways. If one goes missing, the other is allowed to look for a body. They call it friendship, and for a while it has worked. But now things are coming to a crisis. Maybe a strange new kind of séance is the answer—the kind where you pay cash at the door, watch for blood on the floor, and never expect a refund.