Chapter Four

 

Adrian

 

Day one at my new job had been overwhelming, to say the least. Stanley had assigned a guy named Taylor to show me the ropes. He’d set me up with an ID badge and gave me the proper passwords, so I had access to the company’s computer system. Afterward, there had been a quick crash course on how to operate their internal programs. It wasn’t anything too difficult, and I caught on without too much trouble. Later in the morning, I’d been invited to join in on a few sessions Taylor had scheduled—with the client’s permission, of course. It gave me a good firsthand look into my responsibilities. Also, he’d shown me the ins and outs of how to handle their crisis line, since that was where a majority of my time would be spent in the beginning. Before I’d clocked out for the day, I’d been assigned my own seven square feet of space, and despite it being incredibly small and impersonal, I couldn’t have been more proud.

On Friday morning, I barely made it to my desk to hang my coat when Taylor caught up to me, a huge, beaming smile glowing out his sage green eyes. He was easily ten years older than me, but he could have passed for mid-twenties without a problem. His blond hair was a direct contrast to his dark brow. He wore it longer, and it curled a little on the ends by his ears making it appear unruly.

“Hey, Adrian, Stanley has been waiting for you. Told me to send you to his desk when you got here.”

I furrowed my brow and checked the time on my watch. I wasn’t late or anything, and Taylor was smiling, so I assumed it wasn’t bad. “Is something the matter?” I asked, instantly fearing the worst.

Taylor clapped me on the shoulder as we continued to my office space. “Not at all. Rumor has it, he has a special assignment for you already.” With a wink, Taylor shot past me and went to his own cubicle four down from mine.

Special assignment?

I draped my coat over the rack in the corner and left my shoulder bag beside my desk before straightening my collar and fixing my glasses. I’d worn my favorite argyle sweater over a white button up and was glad. The air conditioning inside was too chilly for my liking. The previous day, I’d frozen my ass off. Didn’t these people know it was barely the first of May?

Not wishing to keep my boss waiting, I made my way through the maze of cubicles until I stood outside Mr. Polaris’ section. He was on the phone, and I didn’t want to interrupt, so I shuffled in place as I waited, scanning the large room and all the dividing walls within. When I glanced back, Mr. Polaris caught my eye and waved me in, indicating I should take a seat across from him.

My mind raced as I considered the reasons he wanted to see me. Before I had long to think, he hung up and leaned back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his opposite knee, looking far more comfortable than me.

“Good morning, Adrian. How did things go yesterday? Did Taylor help you get sorted out?”

I sat straighter and reflexively adjusted my glasses. “He did, thank you. There is a lot to take in, but nothing I can’t handle. The crisis line is an intriguing process. The prompt script is something I recognize from one of my clinical skills courses. We practiced using it a lot in class.”

Too much talking. Shut up.

I gnawed my lip.

Stanley seemed amused. He nodded and smiled. “You’re a smart kid, Adrian. I know you’ll do great here. Listen.” He tapped his steepled fingers together as he pinned me with a mischievous look. “I have something that’s come up recently, and I’d like to see how you feel about it.”

“Umm… S-sure.”

He dropped his leg to the ground and pulled himself closer to his desk. “I spoke on the phone yesterday with a young man who is looking for some counseling services. My initial impression is that he is leery about the whole process but has talked himself into trying it out. I don’t know anything about his history so I may be jumping the gun here, but based on his unique request, I think we might be dealing with an individual who has a severe phobia.”

My ears perked, and my mind instantly went into overdrive as I pulled up all the information I’d learned in my extra-curricular course on anxiety disorders. We’d spent over a week discussing phobias, and I’d found the information to be incredibly fascinating.

“Phobia of what, sir?”

Mr. Polaris grinned and shook his head. “Please, at the very least call me Mr. Polaris if Stanley doesn’t suit you. I’m not sir.”

“I’m sorry.” I fidgeted as I waited for him to answer my question.

“Prior to speaking with this individual, I had a conversation with a close friend of his who was looking for information about our services. He explained that what inspired him to call us was the fact that we ran a twenty-four-hour counseling center. His friend is unable to make daytime appointments, and on further discussion, I learned, he is also unable, or perhaps unwilling, to meet in our building due to the intensity of our lights. He’s requested home visits only. After hours.”

I couldn’t stop my lips from parting, or the small intake of air as my eyes widened. “Heliophobia? Wow, I’ve only ever read about such things. That’s so incredible.”

Mr. Polaris tilted his head to the side and cocked a brow. “Explain.”

With the wide smile splayed across his face, I wasn’t sure if he was asking because he didn’t know or if he was testing me.

“Heliophobia. An intense fear of the sun or sunlight which can, over time, morph into a fear of light altogether. Rare, but not unheard of. The root cause can be difficult to determine in some cases, but in most, there is a clear and impacting event that sets it off.”

By the time I’d finished my explanation, Mr. Polaris shook his head and chuckled. “Goddamn, kid. I knew I hired you for a reason. Like I said, I can’t say for certain this is what we are dealing with because the client was not very forthcoming on the phone, but he did agree to an initial counseling session. Are you ready for this?”

Holy shit! He was asking me to take on the client. An off-premise client. At night. It would be my first time officially running a counseling session. In school, we’d frequently run mock meetings for practice, but this was the real deal. My stomach did a complete flip inside my belly, and I tried to hide my nerves as I answered.

“I’d be thrilled to take this on. Thank you for trusting me.”

“If I didn’t think you could handle it, I wouldn’t be offering.” He chuckled again as he pulled forward a brown file folder. It was empty except for a few blank sheets I remembered Taylor explaining were for initial client registration. They were the standard forms we used for gathering general information and making assessments. On the front of the folder was a sticky note with the name Rory Gallagher and a phone number. Mr. Polaris slid the folder across the desk.

“When speaking to Mr. Gallagher yesterday, he agreed to an appointment at his house at eleven Monday night. I explained I would have someone call him to confirm the appointment and acquire an address.”

“I can do that.”

We spoke for a few more minutes about how my schedule would work around the sessions once they were set up, and Mr. Polaris dismissed me with more gratitude than I felt worthy of. It was surreal how fast I was falling into place at my new job.

That evening, I dodged my roommates while I put together a quick sandwich for dinner and escaped to my room to eat. I’d been instructed that my new client would prefer any phone calls to be made in the later evening since he slept during the daylight hours. It was another red flag that indicated Mr. Polaris’ assumption about Heliophobia was probably accurate.

At nine o’clock, I pulled out the folder I’d been given and found a black pen so I could take notes if necessary. Before making the call, I took a few deep breaths, reminding myself of all I’d been taught, knowing it was time to put it to practice.

So many times over the past four years, I’d convinced myself I didn’t have what it took to do the practical part of the job. The book smarts weren’t the issue; it was the people skills that worried me. If I didn’t get over my personal anxiety of confrontations, I might need to go into research or teaching. I knew everything in theory, but I wasn’t sure how I would handle therapy sessions if the person I counseled was remotely intimidating. I shriveled in the presence of hostility or anger, and I knew that was not a good mix for my ideal career choice. The idea that I’d wasted four years of schooling didn’t sit well, so I forced a strong front and dialed the number on the sticky note.

He picked up on the second ring.

“If you’re selling something, I’m hanging up.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again, instantly uncomfortable. “Umm… Hello? Mr. Gallagher, I assume?”

Silence.

I swallowed hard and sat up straight, summoning my courage back to the surface before continuing. “This is Adrian Anderson, I’m calling from Dewhurst Point Counseling Center. Do you have a minute to talk?”

An audible sigh came through the line before the man grumbled, “Yeah. It’s Rory, not Mr. Gallagher.”

“I understand. Rory, I was hoping to confirm an appointment that was tentatively set up for Monday night. My boss explained I would be coming to your residence, is that correct?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

He said it like he expected me to tell him it was.

“Not at all. I’m happy to come to you. If eleven o’clock still works, all I need is an address.”

“Yeah, eleven’s fine.”

He relayed his address, and our phone call ended just as abruptly. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type, and I hoped he opened up more in our sessions.

With that order of business completed, I considered my evening. It was Friday night, so I’d probably have the house to myself since the guys liked to go out partying or bar-hopping most weekends. As much as I wanted to take advantage of the peace and quiet and get some extra sleep, I knew I needed to train my body to working nights since my schedule was about to turn my life upside down.

Deciding to catch up on a few video seminars I’d meant to watch, I set up my laptop on my desk, angled it so I could see from my bed, and kicked back to relax—with a notepad, of course, since I liked taking notes of things I found interesting.

 

* * *

 

The only thing I hated more than being bullied by my roommates were the moments in between when I walked on eggshells, waiting for it to happen—because it would happen. It was simply the calm before the storm. Not knowing when or where the next assault would come from kept me on edge and made me sick to my stomach.

It was a quarter to ten on Monday night, and I’d snuck into the kitchen to make myself a lunch before I called a cab to take me to my first ever session with a client. Not only was I apprehensive over my first official job, but things at home were too quiet for my liking.

Marcus had an array of books spread out on the island in the kitchen where he was propped on a stool studying. With his head lowered to his textbook, his black hair fell in front of his eyes. Summer courses had begun the previous week, and he’d signed up for a few extra classes so he could get further ahead with his engineering degree. I admired his brain. He was smart as hell and could be a nice guy if he wanted to be. Sadly, he was influenced far too often by the other two idiots in the house, and as a result, we weren’t friends.

The duo were big enough pains in the asses that their parents kept their share of the rent paid over the summer months, so they didn’t have to go home. What did that say about them? Their families didn’t even want them around. With no school until the fall semester, it left them more time on their hands to bother me, because God forbid they get a job and do something productive with their lives.

Tweedledee and Tweedledum were entertaining themselves with the Xbox One in the living room. The constant drone of gunfire filtered through the kitchen wall and helped me remain at ease, knowing they were occupied.

“You going to work?” Marcus mumbled, not lifting his eyes from his textbook.

“Yeah, first official shift after training. Kind of exciting.”

He grunted and scribbled notes onto his notepad. Why did I bother trying? He didn’t care.

I worked through making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and added it to my lunch bag. Noticing the case of bottled water I’d bought the other day was empty, I sighed. If I didn’t keep things hidden away in the closet in my bedroom, they disappeared in record time. My roommates had no problem taking what wasn’t theirs.

Leaving my lunch bag on the counter, I ran back upstairs, knowing I had a few bottles of Gatorade left. I needed to do some shopping. My father put grocery money into my account every Monday, but I hadn’t made it to the store that day.

When I returned downstairs, the first thing I noticed was the gunfire had ceased. When I peeked into the living room, Dylan and Calvin were no longer on the couch. I stiffened, my muscles instantly taut.

Pressing my lips together, I slinked into the kitchen and aimed for my lunch bag, so I could pack up and get out. The duo had joined Marcus at the island, and the heat of their gazes followed me as I crossed the room. I dropped my Gatorade inside my lunch bag and zipped it up as fast as I could before I raced out of the kitchen. Even though it was early, I headed for the front hall to put on my shoes. I planned to call my cab from outside where I knew I wouldn’t be harassed.

It was eerily quiet as I dashed away, and I checked over my shoulder multiple times, expecting to be followed or to hear nasty remarks and name calling in my wake. Nothing. Their unresponsiveness was enough to make my skin crawl. Nothing good ever came from silence.

Out in the street, I fit my shoulder bag in place and pulled out my phone. The night air was cool, and I regretted not grabbing a jacket. All I had on was a striped navy and red cardigan that buttoned up the front, and a white turtleneck underneath. The wind went right through me, and I shivered. There was no way I was going back inside. The atmosphere was off, and I’d gotten out of there relatively easily. I wasn’t interested in tempting fate.

The cab company told me my ride would be there straight away, so I ducked between buildings to be out of the elements and waited. It wasn’t long before my ride pulled up to the curb. I hopped in and recited Rory’s address as he pulled away.

I glanced over my shoulder to the front door of my residence one last time, a sense of unease creeping over my skin at the simplicity of my escape.

That never happened.

Rory Gallagher’s apartment complex was only a few blocks from the downtown area and sat at least a dozen stories high, directly along the river. In the darkness, the city’s lights reflected off the water making it sparkle. It was a gorgeous view, and I could only imagine how amazing it would be to see it from one of the high, river-facing balconies.

I went into the lobby and took the elevator to the tenth floor where Rory lived. He was apartment ten-o-eight, and I glanced at each numbered door as I made my way down the drab, poorly lit hallway. The building was in decent repair, but the carpeting was a nauseating checkered design of various browns. Who in their right mind ever saw it as an appealing choice?

At the far end of the hall, I came to his door and stood outside staring at the painted black plastic numbers for a minute longer while I composed myself. The eight hung slightly crooked, and I wanted to straighten it. I didn’t. My heart raced erratically, and sweat slicked my palms as I brought a hand up to knock.

Over the weekend, I’d mentally prepared myself as best I could for the job. I liked to be overly prepared for everything. What I didn’t predict was the fiery redhead who opened the door. He was younger than I expected—older than me if I had to guess but definitely not what my mind had anticipated when I’d conjured up an image of who I might meet.

He wore a white sleeveless shirt which displayed tattoo-covered arms. He had muscle definition but was slim and tall, taller than me by at least an inch. His tattered jeans were full of holes, and his feet were bare.

He squinted against the dim hallway lighting, turning his head slightly away from the assault as he frowned, his brows meeting in the middle. The guy looked pissed off, and cold dread seeped into my veins. All his internal anger seemed clearly directed at me, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to do. The air between us grew thick with tension as I swallowed my nerve—again—while I tried to summon an introduction up my throat.

The mood all changed in a flash when a cat darted between his legs and took off down the hallway unexpectedly.

“Shit,” the guy snapped. “Samson! Get the fuck back here, you stupid cat.”

I flipped my head between Rory and the cat who was halfway to the elevators and not slowing down in the least. When I realized Rory was making no move to exit his apartment to chase it down, I dropped my shoulder bag and raced after the feline.

The cat, or Samson if I’d heard correctly, didn’t resist my effort to catch him. When I caught up with the gorgeous tawny Persian, he happily allowed me to pick him up, and he snuggled into my arms, purring and enjoying the attention.

“Well aren’t you simply the most beautiful thing ever,” I cooed as I walked back toward Rory’s apartment.

Rory had disappeared inside by the time I returned, but he’d left the door open, so I assumed it to be an invitation that I should let myself in. Considering I had his cat, I hoped it was a correct assumption.

I snagged my bag from the ground in the hallway, and once I was inside, I let the cat down. He didn’t leave my side and weaved between my legs repeatedly, purring and meowing like he was telling me a tale.

I peered up with a wide grin to look for my new client, but the deep shadows surrounding me triggered a sense of disquiet in my gut. It was ominous in a way I didn’t expect. I knew from what Mr. Polaris and I had discussed that the guy could have extreme light sensitivity issues but being submerged in that reality was a little unusual. Off-putting. Nerve-wracking. I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d been dropped onto the set of a horror movie, and I was the clueless victim about to be hacked into a dozen pieces.

The balcony drapes were pulled aside, but the night beyond didn’t offer much in the way of light. However, when I realized his apartment faced the water, I smiled inside, wondering if at any point I’d get a glimpse off his balcony to see the river like I’d imagined when I was downstairs.

“You can come in.” Rory had moved to the couch, and his silhouetted frame looked to be fiddling with something on the coffee table in front of him. It was too dark to distinguish much more than outlines.

A flash of light appeared briefly as he lit a cigarette. I winced, only then catching the scent of lingering tobacco in the air. The guy was a smoker. Just my luck. I searched the Rolodex in my head, hoping I had my puffer on me in case I had an asthma attack. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask him not to light up in his own home because I had health issues. I guessed I’d cross that bridge if I came to it.

I searched up the brown folder with his name on it and left my bag propped against the wall by the door. He didn’t have a lot of furniture in his living room. A couch flanked with end tables on either side, a chair, TV, and small stereo cabinet which housed a few devices I could only guess were cable boxes, maybe a Blue Ray player, and perhaps a game system. It was too dark to know for sure. There was a square rug I nearly tripped on which sat on top of the carpet in the middle of the room. The patterning was obscure in the low light, and I couldn’t make out colors much less definition.

I settled on the edge of the chair adjacent to the couch and looked around, trying to orient myself. With his smoke balanced between his lips, he leaned toward the end table and flicked on a lamp with a dark shade. The bulb was dim and yellow but cast enough light to chase away the darker shadows without being overly assaulting. Rory squinted with his next drag as he studied me. I couldn’t be sure if it was because of the lighting or because he was trying to figure me out.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded and found a smile as I held out my hand. “I’m Adrian Anderson, we spoke on the phone.”

He took my hand and squeezed. It was warm, if not a little sweaty like my own. He exuded a confidence I’d never had, and it caused another thread of insecurity to erupt. He cut his eyes to his ashtray as he blew a wisp of smoke into the air. I tried not to cough—or breathe too hard for that matter.

“So,” I said, figuring I should begin, “today I thought we could go through some basic introduction stuff. I need to gather information from you, and if you’re feeling comfortable enough, maybe we can talk about why you contacted us and are looking to begin counseling sessions.”

His eyes never left his smoke as he rolled it between fingers and ashed it into the tray. When he didn’t respond, I opened the folder on my lap and clicked my pen.

“Umm… because we are a government funded program, I’ll need your health card information. Do you have that on you?”

He closed his eyes briefly before butting out his smoke and digging his wallet from a pocket in his jeans. As he rooted through in search of his card, I took a moment to admire the art along his arms. It wasn’t dense like I’d seen on some people, but there were enough pictures pieced together to make it interesting. Around his wrist on one side were flames licking up his arm. His knuckles were tattooed with letters, but I couldn’t make out what it said without being obvious in my gawking. There were skulls, a pocket watch, music notes and other symbols, and near the top of his shirt what looked to be leaves or branches.

When he found the card, he pulled it out and handed it to me between two fingers. I offered a weak smile as I accepted it. He was back to studying me, and I wanted to squirm. Instead, I focused on taking down the information I needed.

Of course, I ended up with probably the most intimidating guy on the block. Figured.

Rory Matthew Gallagher. According to his card, he was twenty-eight years old. I fixed my glasses as I jotted down his health number and code before passing it back. His gaze was penetrating, and as he took the card he asked, “You’re qualified for this job?”

“I am.” I drew myself straighter in the chair and ignored the tickle in my throat making me want to cough from the lingering smoke in the air. “I just finished my Bachelor of Psychology with extra studies focusing on human behavior. I’ve maintained a solid 4.0 GPA every semester, although I haven’t received my final grades yet, I have no reason to believe they’d be any different. I have three published articles in Psychology Today. It’s not a prestigious or well-followed magazine, but I won the psychology contests three years in a row qualifying my pieces for entry. In September, I’ll be back at it until I have a full doctorate. That’s my final goal. Then, I hope to have my own practice. I met all the counseling center’s qualifications. Are… Do you not feel comfortable with me being your counselor?”

I tried not to let my own words sting as I waited for his response. It was all I’d ever wanted to do with my life, even though I seriously needed to grow a pair if I was going to be successful. Rory simply stared. I was sure I imagined the quirk in his lip because the minute I thought I saw it, it was gone again.

“You don’t look a day over nineteen. Are you the next Doogie Howser, or something? Child genius? Eidetic memory? All that bullshit.”

My cheeks flushed, and I didn’t know if I should be insulted that he assumed I was so young or thrilled that he considered me to be that smart.

“I’m twenty-four, but thank you… I think. I don’t have an eidetic memory, although I wish I did. It would make studying easier.” My cheeks flamed hotter as I dropped my gaze to the folder on my lap and pinched my pen tighter in my grasp. God, I felt so incredibly stupid—for a smart guy. “Did… Did you want to talk about what drove you to call our office?”