Personal Demons by Stacia Kane Read Free Book Online

each others’ illnesses or disturbances. In the hands of a good therapist such things did not happen. Art was not a good therapist. The whole thing distressed and disheartened her.
    The conversation continued, but Megan tuned it out. No wonder Kevin had tried to leave. This was dangerous, a mockery of what therapy was supposed to be, and Art Bellingham was enjoying it. She heard it in his voice, the sort of rich happiness that comes from a job well done.Whatever cheap thrills he got by playing Svengali were going to end, though. Tomorrow she would start making calls to the proper people. This could not be allowed to continue.
    The room was almost completely dark. Megan couldn’t understand why the candles were no longer providing light or why the temperature seemed to be dropping. The exercise mat whispered softly as the people on it moved, presumably crowding closer together—whether for comfort or warmth she did not know. The energy in the room was changing, becoming more alive. Voices merged together into something like a chant, but Megan couldn’t understand what they were saying.
    Their energy melded too. Their emotions swirled around her, combining into one, separating again.
    She floated in the darkness, her arms outstretched, facing upwards. Far below her were the voices and the sadness, the fear. She felt it, but it felt…good. Right, somehow. It clung to her skin like syrup and she licked it off, savoring the piquancy. Why do this job if you couldn’t gain something from taking the fear into yourself?
    The vision shifted abruptly. She stood in the kitchen of her childhood home, holding her schoolbooks. She was sixteen years old, just come home from school to an empty house. What could be more exciting?
    Megan threw the books down and headed upstairs to her room. The Ouija board waited under her bed. Ever since she’d realized she knew things about other people, that she could somehow see into their heads, she’d wanted to try this. Maybe she could talk to ghosts. Maybe they could make Todd Gentry fall in love with her, or force that bitch Tara Coleman to leave her alone.
    She pulled the box out from under her bed. The conscious, adult Megan tried to fight, tried to scream. Thiswould lead to no good, she knew it, she felt it…Megan screamed in her head, screamed as loudly as she could.
    The lights went on. Megan blinked as her eyes started watering from the sudden illumination. On the floor beside her chair, some of the others squinted or rubbed their eyes; some yawned and stretched. The session was over.
    What the hell had happened?
    Everyone headed for a small table by the door, covered with paper cups and bottles of juice, cookies, and other snacks. Art smiled at Megan.
    â€œWe always have something to eat afterwards,” he said. “After working this hard, we need something to keep our strength up, right guys?”
    The others murmured noises of assent, but they were too busy eating and drinking to speak. They’d fallen on the food like a pack of hungry baby wolves.
    Art handed her a cup of warm Coke and a cookie before pulling her into a corner. His hand clung to her sleeve like a horrible insect she couldn’t brush off. “What did you think? Interesting?”
    â€œUm, yes.” The Coke was flat, too. “Definitely interesting.” When could she leave? Would it be rude to leave now?
    Art watched her. Again the light caught his glasses and obscured his eyes. She was beginning to think he did it on purpose. “How did you like the affirmations at the end? I wrote them myself.”
    Affirmations? Oh…the chanting. She hoped. “Great. You’ll have to give me a copy.”
    Art wagged his finger at her. “Oh, no. If you want access to them you have to come work with us again.”
    â€œGee, Art, I’d love to,” she lied, “but as I said before I’m just too busy these days. It sure is a great program,