The minute the countdown hit zero, his eyes flew open. There were beads of sweat on his forehead as he sat up and took deep breaths.
Grace watched silently, her pen dangling between her index and middle fingers. She had expected some reaction but she didn’t think it would be this intense.
After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to face her. When he spoke, his voice shook slightly and the fear in his eyes was clearer than day.
“I saw him again. I’m not even asleep and I saw him clearly.”
Grace remained quiet, waiting for him to continue. He held both his hands forward and let out short nervous laughter.
“I can’t believe my hands are still shaking.”
“Still?” Grace asked.
He looked at her, the hint of humour quickly gone. “Yes, he took my hand. He–he tried to take me somewhere new and I couldn’t say no. But his hand…” He shivered, still staring down at his hands which were now visibly shaking.
“What about his hand?” Grace prompted after a minute had passed.
He suddenly withdrew his hands and clutched them to his stomach in an attempt to stop the shaking.
“They were cold. Ice cold. I could feel it all over my body.”
“Where were you going?”
“Home. That’s what he said. “I’m taking you home where you’ll be happy.”” He scoffed. “I think I’m losing my mind. I’ve been talking to a shadow on the wall And see how scared I am.”
He leaned forward, his anguish the more apparent. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
Grace smiled. “Do you know what shadows represent? Us. They are the part of us that is only visible when confronted by light. Do you understand?”
“So I’ve been talking to myself?”
“More or less. A part of you that has been in the dark for so long but is now coming to light, probably against your wish.”
“My wish?”
“It doesn’t have to be a conscious wish. It’s likely buried deep in your subconscious. Remember what we talked about the last time?”
He nodded.
“You started talking about your father.”
Grace thought she saw him cringe slightly.
She found him interesting from the moment he walked into her office asking her to help him.
It had all started in a dream for him. And the dream had started after his wife became pregnant. The shadow had appeared and had asked for his hand, but he had refused.
“It was looming, this shadow figure and I had to look up to him.” He had described during their first session.
Every encounter with the Shadow after that became more terrifying that he could no longer function properly in his everyday life.
He suddenly began to sob quietly, drawing Grace’s attention back to him. The sobs grew louder and he curled up like a frightened little boy on the sofa, his knees drawn up to his chin.
“I think I’m going to hurt my baby.” He wailed.
Grace sat still until the wailing was replaced by heavings. She got up then and handed him a box of tissue.
“My father hurt me as a boy.” He said in a low flat voice. “I’ve tried to forget this my whole life. He…touched me and made me touch him.”
Grace put her pen down but he didn’t seem to notice as he continued.
“I find myself sometimes craving the touch of a young boy but I always dismiss it.”
He looked up at Grace, the tears in his eyes gleaming.
“I don’t think I will be able to keep fighting it if I have a child in my house. I can’t hurt my child. No.”
It was Grace’s turn to sit back and sigh. “No, you can’t,” she said. I won’t, she thought, as her own shadow figure came to mind.
