From Actor to Healer: Alan Rickman's New Life as a Spirit Guide, Book 1

Chapter 19 - The Trial

I had grown fonder of Alan through his work. Seeing everything I could was a delight. Once I'd streamed all his movies by early 2018, I told him I wanted to buy the DVDs so that I would have permanent access to his films, especially as they got older and possibly harder to find. Over time, streaming apps could remove them. Even though Alan was no longer the physical man in the films, they were my physical connection to him. This would require a large sum of money, though. Alan had made more than forty films, and I didn't have the cash to purchase that many DVDs all at once. Plus, Alan had asked me not to spend money on his movies.

As I looked for solutions, I remembered I had received a number of gift cards for Christmas several years in a row, many of which I hadn't used yet. That was one option. And after looking up my credit card points, I discovered I had enough to redeem additional gift cards.

The cards allowed me to buy a chunk of Alan's movies at no cost, but I was still about $500 short. So I told him I would either have to wait until I got more gift cards or scrape together whatever savings were left over each month after I paid expenses.

I knew this was difficult for Alan. He'd been a millionaire in life, so $500 was undoubtedly pocket change to him. He could have bought every movie for me and thought nothing of it. Little did I know he was working on a plan to help me.

* * * * *

A couple weeks later, a jury summons arrived in the mail. It had been more than a decade since I'd last received one. I had served on that trial, so I felt I had fulfilled my civic duty. Ironically, I'd recently had a casual conversation with Alan about that and told him I didn't want to receive any more jury summons. He must have taken that as a sign of something to investigate and had the summons sent to me. I couldn't believe the synchronicity. I wasn't happy about the prospect of serving on another jury, but I accepted that the summons had come for a good reason.

The night before reporting to the courthouse, I had a funny dream. The scene was a house party with at least a dozen guests. As the gathering was informal, everyone was wearing T-shirts and shorts. I was seated on the floor, leaning against a sofa. Alan was sitting next to me. When I turned to say something to him, I cringed because he had extremely hairy legs with thick coarse curls that looked cartoonish and exaggerated.

Alan had a terrific sense of humor, but I had no idea why he gave me this dream. Maybe he wanted to keep the mood light because of my jury duty the following day?

When I reported to the courthouse, I learned that jury selection was underway for a case, and only a few spots still needed to be filled. While the other two hundred potential jurors and I sat patiently in the waiting room, Alan informed me, "You will go before a judge and then be dismissed."

I hoped that meant I wouldn't be selected for the case. The hours ticked by, and by four o'clock, I wondered if we would all be dismissed. But shortly afterward, we were asked to line up by ticket number. Then we were taken up an elevator in groups and led down a long hall to a courtroom.

As the judge peered at us from behind the bench through thick round glasses, four attorneys in dark suits stood in the middle of the room, watching us in silence as we trudged in. The colorless room was devoid of character and charm. After we were seated, the judge explained this was a murder trial that was expected to last about two weeks. Each potential juror was interviewed one by one. I hoped the final jury members would be selected before my turn came, but I had no such luck.

The judge asked me only a few superficial questions. He wanted to know if I was married, if I had children, and what I did for a living. I considered Reiki to be my community service and not how I earned my living, so I didn't think to mention it. And I certainly wasn't going to divulge that I was conversing with a deceased actor on a regular basis! However, in retrospect, the judge surely would have dismissed me on the spot if I'd said so.

I told him I wasn't married, had no children, and worked as an administrative assistant. He then asked if I had served on a jury before (which I had) and if I could be impartial (which I could). The judge and the attorneys obviously liked what I'd said, because they selected me as the last juror for the case. Before adjourning for the evening, the judge asked the fourteen jurors to report back the following day for the start of the trial.

Alan had informed me correctly that I would go before a judge and be dismissed. I wished he'd also told me I was going to be selected, but I understood that he couldn't reveal everything he knew.

To help me relax after the long day, I decided to watch one of Alan's films while eating dinner. The first round of his DVDs that I'd ordered online had arrived that week. I rummaged through the box on the dining room table and picked a 2007 comedy titled Nobel Son.

I thought I'd randomly chosen the movie, but I should have known that wasn't so. Although I'd watched this film before on my TV app, I did a double take when I spotted something that I hadn't noticed before during one of the last scenes. Sitting on the floor in a T-shirt and shorts, Alan leaned back and brought his knees up—hairy legs plain to see! Then I burst out laughing as I recalled the dream I'd had the night before. Alan had purposely exaggerated the hair on his legs in the dream so that I would remember it and connect it with this movie the following night. I had no idea how he'd known I would select Nobel Son. Perhaps he guided me to watch this DVD as a gift of humor.

I had often encouraged Alan to tell me more about his personal life. He would share a little now and again, but he seemed reluctant, either preferring to keep his life private or dismissing trivial details as irrelevant since he was no longer that man. Ironically, I'd told him the day before that I would stop asking about his personal life. He could share whatever he wanted me to know. So what did he choose to show me in response? That he'd had hairy legs!

At times like these, I appreciated Alan's sense of humor. No sooner had the trial started than he informed me that the defendant, a middle-aged man named John, had killed his cousin Peter. (Note: Names and identifying characteristics have been changed.)

This put me in an uncomfortable and compromising situation. I was upset about being selected for a jury in the first place, and now Alan was giving me specific information. I didn't understand why this was happening, and I didn't dare tell anyone. The parties involved in the case probably wouldn't have believed me—and I didn't want to be carted off to a mental hospital! So I waited to see how the trial would play out.