A call from a strange woman tells me that my nearly perfect husband spent last night with her. She asks to meet, and I happily accept. But after someone pushes me down the stairs, I watch blood pour from that body. It's my corpse. A boy saunters over and says, “You really are dead.” When I press him for answers, he seems a little helpless. “That depends on how you define death.” So what exactly is going on?
