What Hides in the Light

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

Derrick twists his pen in his fingers, watching her over the rim of his glasses. The lenses glint in the light streaming through the southern windows of the office. “Okay. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Eleanor.”

Ellie’s mouth purses. She hates being called that name. She taps her fingers on the arm of the chair to Van Gogh by Virginio Aiello. Her eyes are fixed on the windows, watching a bird twitter at the feeder on the other side of the glass. The skin around her eyes tightens. “I didn’t sleep well. How are you?”

“I’m good. Great, actually. But let’s focus on you today, hmm?” Derrick says, clicking his pen and nonchalantly writing something in the notebook he has on his lap. “Storm keep you awake?”

“The thunder.” Ellie answers shortly, still watching the bird. It’s a small Finch, chirping and tilting its head as it peers back at her beyond the glass. “The lights kept flickering.”

“And you thought the power would go out?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get the lanterns we talked about last time? The solar-powered ones.”

“Yes. There’s one in my room.”

“Did you use it?”

“No.”

Derrick withholds a sigh, rubbing the spot on his forehead between his eyebrows. He knows she’s doing this on purpose. She doesn’t want to talk. He thinks she would never speak at all, would never show up to these sessions if her mom didn’t drive her here and drop her off every week. He tries again with a different approach, “Did you listen to that Luke Faulkner album I told you about yet?”

There’s a subtle shift in her demeanor. Her eyes flicker from the window, to a far corner of the office, then finally his face. “I did. ‘The Wanderer’ is my favorite right now.”

“Mine is ‘Dusk’, but that’s a good choice too.” Derrick nods, smiling at her. Now they’re getting somewhere. “I like to listen to it while I do paperwork. It’s good for relaxing the mind. They say listening to classical music while studying helps you remember the curriculum.”

“Actually, it improves focus. The lack of lyrics and soothing melodies are less distracting and help reduce stress.” Ellie’s gaze travels back to the window. A cardinal has joined the finch at the feeder now, heartily pecking away at the seed inside. Her fingers keep tapping the arm of the chair, shifting into Movement 1 of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata.

“I’ve heard that.” Derrick nods, “You listen to it at night too, don’t you? Do you feel like it’s still helping?”

Ellie presses her lips into a thin line. The birds fly away, a flurry of color against the overcast sky. Her ears drone as the air-conditioner clicks off overhead, leaving only the hum of the lights and her own breathing to cover some of the noise. “I guess.”

Her head feels heavy, like it’s full of bees, buzzing, swarming her brain. Her eyes flicker toward the far corners of the room again. The tall lamp by the window. The coat hanger by the door. The shelf packed with books sitting in shadow on the other side of the room. Everything is exactly where it should be. Yet, it feels off. Like everything is canted, shifted, just a little out of place. Or maybe she’s out of place. She can never tell anymore.

Something flutters by in the corner of her right eye, drawing her attention back to the window. Everything is still outside. No more birds. Just the wind in the sycamore and the shrubs beyond the glass. Her fingers falter as they cross over into Movement 2 of Moonlight Sonata. She squints harder at the tree, at the shadows hiding in its boughs. There’s nothing there, she tells herself. But she can’t look away.

Derrick notices her lack of attention, following her gaze out the window. He can’t see anything, but he recognizes the far-off look on her face, the one that means he’s losing her. He shifts forward, setting his notebook aside to clasp his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. “Ellie? Can you tell me what you’re seeing right now?”

“Nothing.” Ellie drags her gaze away. Something flickers in the corner of her left eye. A figure. A shadow. She feels it press closer, cold air raking down the side of her face and neck like icy wind. She stops breathing as something lands next to her hand on the arm of the chair. It’s not real, she tells herself. It can’t hurt her.

It leans further into her peripheral vision, just for a moment, as if it can hear her thinking.

When Ellie finally works up the bravery to look, the shadow vanishes.

Derrick catches the movement, clicking his pen unnecessarily before scribbling something in the notebook. “Let’s talk about something else. How do you feel when you wake up?”

Ellie pulls her hands into her lap, drumming on her leg mindlessly instead. The bees swarm louder in her head. A lump crawls up her throat with all the things she wants to say. She can’t get any of them out except, “I can’t sleep.”

Not at night. Not in the morning. She can’t sleep in her room or her bed like a normal person. She catches a few hours on the couch or in the car. Always with someone else in the room, music playing, noise to cover up the ever-present ringing in her ears. But never at night. The shadows are too long and too many. There’s never enough light to drive them completely away. Ellie wants to say this, to explain so maybe Derrick or anyone else can understand. But she can’t get the words out. And they all look at her like there’s something wrong with her. Like there’s something broken inside her that needs to be fixed.

Part of her thinks that even if she could explain, no one would believe her anyway.

Ellie drags her gaze up to look at Derrick and freezes.

The shadow lingers behind his left shoulder. Poised there, like it’s been waiting for her to look up and acknowledge it. It has no face, but she still gets that ice cold impression of eyes on her skin, watching her.

“Ellie?” Derrick moves to look and the shadow vanishes again. “What’s wrong?”

She drags in a shuddering breath, muscles coiled tight, hands gripping the arms of the chair. Her heart hammers in her chest. She forces herself to take another breath. Look back out the window like nothing is wrong. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Derrick watches her for a moment, brows furrowed deeply. He knows she’s lying. This happens every time he starts to think they’re making progress. Like last week. She had been open to talking, at least about small things. She had asked him about his week. They talked about the cold weather moving in. When she left, she finally seemed at ease, even going as far as to smile and wish him a good weekend. Now they’re right back to the start.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t believe her. He clears his throat and moves on anyway. “When you do sleep, are you still having the dreams?”

“Does it matter if I am?” Ellie searches the boughs of the tree again. There. In the lower branches. A figure poised in the crook of a branch. Claws digging into the bark. She watches it.

“Of course it matters.” Derrick says, voice soft like he’s speaking to a wild animal. Sometimes it feels like he is. “If the muscle relaxers aren’t working, maybe we need to try something else.”

“I don’t want to take them anymore.” Ellie hasn’t taken them in weeks. “They make everything worse anyway.”

The figure in the tree stares back at her. She blinks. It disappears into the wind with the shaking of the branches.

It’s taunting her. It always is. Drawing near, close enough to touch, in the presence of others. But never revealing itself. Never making a sound. Ellie has given up trying to provoke it, to get others to see it for what it is. More than a shadow. More than the wind. More than an overactive imagination playing with her mind. It’s alive. It’s haunting her. It’s something more than just her mind. Even if she doesn’t have a true name for it.

“The hallucinations have gotten worse?” Derrick writes something down again.

Ellie bristles. He’s always writing in that stupid notebook. She chooses her words carefully. Act too defensive and he’ll treat her like glass again. Placate her. Look at her with that demeaning sympathetic look like everyone else does. “It makes the dreams worse. It’s harder to wake up.”

“Do you want to try something different?”

“No.”

“Have you revisited the meditation techniques we discussed?”

“No.”

Derrick sighs through his nose, rubbing the spot between his brows. “Ellie, I can’t help you if you shoot down every suggestion I make.”

She wants to tell him she doesn’t need help. She just needs someone to listen. To believe her.

In the corner by the lamp, the figure returns, peering out at her from the shadows.

No one ever believes her.

The bees buzz louder in her head. Ice crawls up her spine. She bounces her leg, glancing at the clock on the wall across the room. It’s almost time to leave. The shadows never follow her into the car. There will be a few minutes of peace on the drive home; but she knows they will just be waiting for her the moment she gets back to the house. They always are.

“I don’t need help.” Ellie mutters, looking down at her hands to avoid its gaze. “I just want someone to listen. If you could see them…”

It shifts closer, looming over Derrick’s shoulder again. She can feel its breath from here. If he knew how close he was, if he knew what she did, maybe he would understand.

“I wish you could see them. Then maybe you would get it.” The words feel like a curse as soon as they leave her lips. She freezes, breath hitching as it turns its eyes on her. Her chest tightens, lungs burning for oxygen, but she doesn’t dare move. Not until the cold disappears from the back of her neck and the swarm in her head quiets.

The shadow vanishes again.

She takes in a shallow breath. Then another. Her hands unclench from her pants.

Derrick doesn’t even seem to notice the change. He’s been talking the whole time, saying something about looking up new techniques and adjusting her care plan, but she hasn’t been listening. She’s busy scanning the room. The tree and shrubs outside. But it’s as if the shadow has vanished completely this time. Her head feels clearer than it has in weeks, her chest lighter. Like the sun has come out from behind the clouds again and she can finally breathe.

Derrick stands and she follows automatically, walking behind him to the door of the office. Ellie can’t help but look back over her shoulder, eyes darting over the room once more. Empty. Totally empty. Nothing lingers in the corners. Nothing looks back at her. Everything is still.

Ellie takes a deep breath. Then another. The swarm in her head doesn’t come back, even when she steps out into the hall to walk back to the waiting room. Yet, she doesn’t relax fully. She knows better than to do that.

“Have a good week, Ellie. We’ll talk more next Friday.” Derrick smiles, the light glinting off his glasses again, hiding the tired look in his eyes.

“You, too. See you Friday.” She responds distractedly, shooting one last glance into the empty office before turning to walk down the hall.

Derrick waits until she turns the corner to heave a long sigh, shoulders slumping as he goes back into the office and closes the door. He tosses his notebook on the desk in the corner, sinking down into his chair. Ellie’s his last client today, thankfully. He wants to help her, but her stubbornness seems to wear his patience down faster than he can rebuild it. It reminds him of something his mother used to say. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter how much you want to help someone. If they don’t want to help themselves, there’s nothing you can do to make them better.”

A puff of cold air hits his neck and he shivers, reaching up to adjust his sweater collar. He glances up at the ceiling, but the vent over his desk is shut. He frowns, listening. There’s no sound coming from the other vents either. The A/C isn’t even on. The windows are shut, too.

He shakes his head. Must be a draft. Reaching for the notebook from earlier, he flips it open to the last page and grabs his pen to finish writing notes about Ellie’s session. He notes down about her nervousness, the way she kept staring into space at nothing. He’s getting to the part about refusing to take the muscle relaxers she had been prescribed when he feels the chill again. Down the side of his face and neck. Like something had touched him.

Derrick shivers, pushing away from the desk to go grab the blanket he keeps on the plush chairs by the window. It often gets cold during the rainy season, but there’s never been a draft this bad. He’ll have to let the front office know so they can call in maintenance. The windows are probably leaking again.

Movement catches his eye and he pauses halfway to grabbing the blanket.

There. In the corner behind the bookshelf. The shadows pool and appear to move in the late afternoon light. He stares for a second, sure he saw something. But there’s nothing there.

He shakes his head at himself, grabbing the blanket. It’s probably just the wind shifting things outside. He normally has the corner lamp on by now. He walks over to turn it on, warm light flooding the area next to his desk. When he turns back to the room, everything is still again. Normal. Yet, his heart beats too loud in his ears. There’s a dull ache at his temples, like a swarm of something behind his eyes. Probably a headache from the pressure changes outside.

Derrick turns back to his desk.

His breath catches somewhere between his lungs and throat; chest tightening like an invisible fist is squeezing his ribcage. The blanket falls from his grasp as his entire body locks in place.

Icy breath fogs his glasses. The- the thing hovers in front of him. Watching him. A gaping maw of darkness where eyes and a face should be. He doesn’t dare to even blink. Afraid to look. Afraid to look away. His hair stands on end as the figure presses closer, a shadow-like hand rising to brush against the side of his face and neck.

He flinches.

It vanishes before his eyes like smoke.

Derrick doesn’t call for help. He doesn’t speak at all. His knees crumble beneath him and he pools in the floor with the blanket, squeezing his eyes shut in terror. He tells himself it’s not real. It wasn’t real. He’s just seeing things. He’s just tired. It’s just because he was thinking about what to do about Ellie’s nightmares. It can't be real.

A week later, Ellie shows up for her appointment, well-rested for the first time in months and psyching herself up to admit that she’s making progress. Except Derrick isn’t there, the receptionist at the front desk tells her. Didn’t someone call her? He’d had a psychotic break and was taken to the hospital. Someone should have rescheduled her with a new psychiatrist earlier this week.

A cold dread seizes her. Ellie barely hears what the other woman is saying. She walks away halfway through the speech, ignoring the lady calling for her to come back, and leaves the building. She walks around to the side with the tree and the window that looks into Derrick’s office.

Chills snake down her spine as she sees the mess inside. The furniture is broken. Books spill over the floor from the overturned shelf. The corner lamp is shattered on the floor. On the wall behind the desk, the sage green paint is covered in black ink. The same thing written over and over. She can’t make out the words from here, but something tells her she doesn’t need to. She already knows exactly what it says.

‘It’s watching me. It won’t stop watching me. I can see it. It’s real.’

Ellie hurries away from the scene, already dialing her mom to pick her back up. It makes sense now, why she had been able to sleep. Why the shadows have stayed away. They had finally found someone new to torment. She shivers again and pulls her jacket tighter around herself, the wind pressing at her back. Tears prick at her eyes.

Derrick never believed her. He should have believed her.