Adrian's smile faded into a frown of concern when he got a closer look at Stella's face. The young woman rose from a chair in the front waiting area, forcing her own smile as she approached him. "Hi, Adrian," she said. Even her voice was lackluster.
It was late afternoon, and Stella was his last client of the day. While she sat down on the small couch in Adrian's private office, he closed the door. It was an action he performed out of habit since the building was otherwise empty. He rented an office that had been converted from an old dwelling, and what used to be the living room now served as a waiting area, while the former master bedroom was where he saw clients.
After settling into his chair, Adrian regarded Stella for a moment. When she didn't speak, he said, "You look—"
"I look like shit, I know," she interrupted with a dry laugh.
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "I was about to say tired. What's going on, Stella?" He'd been her therapist for almost six months, and now, in the spring of 1989, he thought she was making great progress. It was the death of Stella's grandmother the previous fall that had caused her to seek Adrian's help. Over the course of their sessions, he learned how Stella had adored her grandmother, whom she considered her only real family. Her relationship with her parents was strained, and she'd revealed that without her grandmother, she felt all alone in the world, utterly adrift.
Still, with Adrian's encouragement, she'd taken several positive steps. Using the meager inheritance her grandmother had left her, Stella purchased a small house earlier in the year. She'd initially seemed thrilled to have her own place. "I never dreamed I'd be able to buy a house!" she'd told Adrian, her smile lighting up her entire face. "Being single and working as a secretary made me think I'd be renting a one-bedroom apartment for the rest of my life."
Over the past couple of months, Stella had busied herself with fixing up the old house. Adrian was still working with her to process past trauma she'd experienced in her relationship with her parents, and she remained estranged from them. They'd been none too happy when Stella's grandmother left her everything, little as it was. Stella also struggled with forming romantic relationships, having developed a pattern of sabotaging them before anyone got close enough to possibly hurt her. A common defense mechanism, Adrian knew, albeit a destructive one.
As Stella now leaned back against the couch, she was careful to keep her legs pressed tightly together. She wore a long-sleeved blouse and a modest gray skirt. Adrian could tell by the way her hazel eyes narrowed that she was about to present him with a challenging question. Stella was just twenty-eight, fifteen years his junior, but he had to admit she kept him on his toes. It was one of the reasons he looked forward to their sessions.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked him.
Adrian tried not to grimace, for he was never comfortable discussing his views on religion or the afterlife. Knowing that Stella wouldn't easily drop the topic, he resorted to the oldest trick in the book, which was posing a question of his own. "Why do you ask, Stella?"
She pursed her lips, obviously displeased with his evasive tactic. He expected some sort of protest on her part, but instead, her gaze grew distant. "I think my house is haunted."
Adrian absorbed this announcement, careful to keep his expression neutral. "And why do you think that?"
Stella ran her fingers through her long hair, tousling the blonde waves. "It's not the entire house." Her voice dropped, so Adrian had to lean forward to hear. "Just one room. The spare bedroom." Her stare sharpened as she focused on him again. "I told you I splurged on buying a new bed." He nodded, willing her to continue. "I moved my old bed into the spare room, in case I ever have guests. And I also put a little nightstand in there, along with a lamp. I put up curtains, too." Stella swallowed hard. "A couple of weeks ago, I was sweeping the floor in that room, just tidying up a bit, and..." Her hand went to her throat. Adrian recognized it as a nervous gesture on her part. "I felt this... presence," she finally managed to say. He kept his face open and receptive, without a hint of judgment. Still, Stella let out a mirthless laugh, as if he'd chastised her for being silly. "I told myself it was just my imagination. The house is old, after all, and I figure that's always in the back of my mind. I sometimes wonder about its history."
"That makes perfect sense," Adrian said, trying to find common ground with her.
She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "But I can't help remembering when the real estate agent first showed me the place. The previous owners were a young married couple; it was their starter home. And it looked like they'd just up and left in a hurry without taking anything with them. I noticed..." Stella cleared her throat, again having trouble getting out the words. "I noticed there was a cross above the doorway of every single room."
Adrian felt a chill in spite of himself. "You never mentioned that before."
Stella shrugged. "I didn't think it was important. The asking price was so cheap, and I really wanted that house. The agent said the couple was in a hurry to sell for 'personal reasons.' I guessed they were splitting up. And I certainly didn't feel anything then. But..." Her face grew stricken. "There's definitely something—someone—in that room, Adrian." She held his stare. "So that's why I want to know, do you believe in ghosts?"
He wondered if this was part of Stella's grieving process, forming a belief in spirits. That way, she could hold out hope of someday encountering her grandmother again. Would Adrian's lack of belief be detrimental to Stella? He didn't want to hinder the progress she was making. Lately, he'd become disillusioned with his work, fearing he was doing little to benefit those who sought his help. Many were content to come to his office each week and simply talk about their problems. He could discuss various ways for them to work on resolving their issues, but behavior patterns ran stubbornly deep, and clients often resisted implementing necessary changes.
In the worst cases, they showed up wanting to try some spiritual quick fix, which they'd most often heard about on a daytime talk show. Maybe their problems were rooted in past-life trauma, they said. Or maybe they had repressed memories. They would push for him to incorporate hypnosis into their sessions, and when he refused, they'd go elsewhere.
But Stella had been doing so well, eager to make positive changes. He'd had such hope that she would heal from her past and go on to form healthy relationships. This talk of ghosts felt like a setback. Adrian struggled to hide his disappointment as he said, "I don't believe in ghosts, no."
"So you don't believe there's anything after this?" She gestured widely with her arms, as if to encompass the entire earthly realm in them.
"No one can say for sure," he replied. Better to hedge on this question. If Stella believed her grandmother lived on in some spiritual plane, Adrian didn't want to take that comfort from her.
"But what do you think?" she demanded. "You have no opinion on the matter? Do you believe in the soul and all that stuff?"
Adrian managed to suppress an exasperated sigh. "My personal belief is that we don't have souls. Doesn't mean my belief is right," he quickly added. "But I think that everything we are—our personalities, our hopes and fears—all of it resides in the brain. And when the brain ceases to function, well, so do we."
She considered his words for a long moment. "Then you're the perfect person to decide if I'm going crazy or not." Her eyes brightened with something like hope. "Adrian, you could come to my house and walk into that room. If you didn't feel any kind of presence there, I'd trust you over my own experiences."
Going to a client's house was out of the question. "Stella," he said, his voice gentle, "have you considered that you're feeling this presence because you still deeply miss your grandmother and you don't want to be alone?" She appeared crestfallen at what he suggested, all that hope vanishing from her face. "My beliefs have nothing to do with what you're going through right now, and they might be completely wrong. Maybe the presence you're sensing is, in fact, your grandmother."
Stella scoffed. "Don't patronize me!"
"I'm not," he insisted.
When she spoke again, her voice rose with each word; he'd never seen her so agitated. "It's not my grandmother in that room, okay? It's definitely male!"
Adrian furrowed his brow. "How can you know that?"
Stella's lips trembled then. Not once had she ever broken down crying in his office, not even when telling him how much she wished she could see her grandmother one last time. "Because he..." She sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Because he touches me." Though Stella's voice shook, her eyes flashed a challenge, daring Adrian to argue. "The first time it happened, I was terrified, but before I could run out of the room..." Her entire body began quivering. "I felt this overwhelming arousal. Have you ever been so turned on, so excited, that you became a stranger to yourself?"
Adrian didn't respond to her question, but he knew he'd never felt a desire so strong that it made him lose all sense of who he was. Just before he and his former wife separated two years ago, she complained that he was always so careful in bed, as if she were fragile and he feared breaking her. "You want everything so neat and tidy, completely under your control!" she'd said, her lip curled in disgust. "Where's the goddamn passion, Adrian? Why can't you just let yourself go for once? I feel like I'm living with a fucking robot!"
And that was when he knew the marriage was over.
Focusing on Stella once more, he asked, "How does this presence touch you?"
Her eyes briefly closed. "Between my thighs," she whispered. "And I respond so quickly, so much faster than when I'm masturbating, or when a man touches me."
Adrian felt his face grow warm. Of course, the topic of sex came up with clients often enough, but Stella had always been careful to avoid discussing her sex life in any detail. "So the first time it happened," he said, "you were frightened at first, but you quickly became aroused." His voice had grown low and gentle, almost coaxing. "And then what?"
"I had an orgasm right there, standing in that room," she confessed. "The... man's touch grew rough; it felt like someone was pinching my nipples through my shirt. When I cried out, he immediately stopped. My, um, my clitoris was already swollen from him rubbing me before, and I was so wet." Her face flushed crimson as she revealed these intimacies to Adrian. He noticed he was breathing faster, and despite his best efforts, he felt his cock stirring. His gaze dropped to her breasts. Would he find her nipples hard if he were to slip his hand inside her blouse right now?
The thought made him swallow back a moan. "Then what happened?" he murmured. Christ, it was wrong, but he wanted to touch himself.
"I felt this gentle pressure against my clit, like he had his hand in my pants and was stroking me." He could hear her breaths coming faster now, too. "I can't describe how amazing it felt, Adrian. I came so hard!" Though Stella's knees were still pressed together, she was practically writhing on the couch. When her eyes locked with Adrian's, he saw the blatant desire in her stare. "I've begun staying in that room every night, but I don't get much sleep. While I'm lying naked in bed, he... he fucks me. I can feel him inside me." Her voice took on an urgency. "And he makes me come again and again!"
Adrian didn't trust himself to speak for several seconds. He was struggling to control his own arousal. Never before had he experienced this with a client, even when some were deliberately provocative. He'd always been the utmost professional. But he couldn't deny how hard he'd become while listening to Stella describe her own excitement. In desperation, Adrian moved in the chair, trying to position himself so that his erection wasn't visible to Stella.
"Am I going crazy?" she whispered. "I'm so scared!" Her eyes shone with tears.
"You're not going crazy," Adrian replied firmly. Helpless, he fumbled for a logical explanation. "You're sexually frustrated, and that frustration is manifesting itself as a vivid hallucination. Perhaps when you're in bed at night, feeling this presence with you, you're in a hypnagogic state, between waking and sleeping."
Stella shook her head, remaining unconvinced. "Will you come to my house? Please?" She clasped her hands before her as if in prayer.
"I can't," he said quietly.
"I'll pay you! You can treat it like another session."
"It's not because of the money, Stella. It's because it wouldn't be appropriate."
She grabbed her purse, rummaging around in it for her keys. "I'll lose my sanity in that house. Don't you see I have nowhere else to go?" She choked on a sob but managed to hold it back. Adrian watched as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
"Where are you going?" he asked, standing as well. He didn't want her leaving while she was so upset.
"I can't talk about this anymore. I'm sorry I ever mentioned it." Turning her back on him, she practically ran toward the door. "I'll see you next week."
"Stella, wait." His voice was a command, and it served to halt her in her tracks. Slowly she faced him again. "I'll follow you to your house."
Her eyes widened. "Now?" she asked. When he nodded, she started forward, as if to hug him, then stopped short, catching herself. "Thank you so much, Adrian!" Her relief was almost palpable.
They didn't speak as he turned off the lights and locked up the office. Already he was telling himself this was a mistake, one that could jeopardize his reputation as a therapist. But he knew he couldn't refuse her plea for help, not when they'd come so far.
"It's less than ten minutes away," she assured him as they walked to their cars. "I promise I won't keep you long."
Adrian simply nodded. Once they were both on the road, he made sure to stay right behind her. She drove carefully, always obeying the speed limit. At a stoplight, Adrian glanced in the rearview mirror. He noticed his eyes looked tired, their blue appearing dull. His light brown hair was resistant to graying so far, but he knew it was only a matter of time. New lines had appeared on his face, and his body had grown softer since he'd entered his forties. He had the completely unbidden thought that anyone seeing him with Stella would probably assume he was her father.
They reached her house faster than he'd expected; by this time, traffic had thinned. There was still plenty of daylight left, and he imagined many of Stella's neighbors were just sitting down at the dinner table. Parking his car behind hers in the short driveway, he studied the one-story dwelling. The first word that came to his mind to describe it was "quaint." It looked like a perfect house for a single woman. Adrian could tell it was old, but the place was far from dilapidated. Someone had cared for it over the years.
As Adrian got out of the car, he noticed a gorgeous rosebush blooming in the yard. "What a lovely home," he said to Stella.
She smiled weakly at his compliment before leading him to the front door. It took her a moment to unlock it. "The key sticks a little," she told him, her voice full of apology. When she managed to open the door, he followed her inside the living room. The spring day had been almost balmy, and since the window air conditioning unit wasn't running, the house was rather warm. Adrian looked around at the furnishings. Like the house itself, they were older but well cared for. Stella had been so proud of her finds while shopping for secondhand furniture she could afford.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked him now.
Adrian didn't want this to feel in any way like a social visit. "I'm fine, thanks. How about you show me the spare bedroom?"
Stella quickly nodded. She set her purse down on a nearby chair, and he placed his keys beside it. They didn't speak while walking down a short hallway to the left. The spare bedroom was at the end of the hall. Its door was closed, and Stella hesitated before it, as if rallying her courage. Then she opened the door and stepped inside the room.
It was small, barely large enough to contain the full bed and nightstand. Stella hurried to turn on the lamp, for the curtains were closed, blocking out the remaining daylight. As Adrian looked around, he sensed nothing strange whatsoever, but of course, he hadn't figured he would. The unmade bed revealed rumpled sheets; Stella had obviously spent a restless night here.
She turned toward him, her face expectant. The lamplight danced upon her hair, making it glow a rich gold. "Do you feel anything?" she asked in a voice just above a whisper.
Adrian shook his head. Slowly he walked toward the empty closet. The space was tiny, more like a cubbyhole. With his hands clasped behind his back, he covered the entirety of the room in just a few steps. He opened his mouth to tell Stella that everything seemed perfectly normal, and that was when the sensation settled over him.
It was the pleasurable warmth of arousal, enveloping Adrian's body. Within seconds, it became so powerful that he was unable to suppress a low moan. His eyes closed, and his head fell back. He swayed a little, as if under a spell. When he felt Stella's hand on his arm, the arousal increased to the level of uncontrollable lust.