“Is that why you’re here?” Dr. Moore asked, casting a furtive glance at the wall clock that announced that it was, indeed, 45 minutes into the one-hour session and Joolie Smyth had yet to say why she was there.

“No, that’s just another one of my little personality quirks.” She stopped to flash him a broad smile. “You know what bothers me the most about my life?”

“What’s that?”

“My name. What the fuck were my parents thinking? Do you realize the torture I have to go through when telemarketers call or when people try to pronounce the damned thing? Even your receptionist, ‘Go-Lee? The doctor will see you now.’ Why couldn’t they just spell it J-U-L-I-E? Why did I always have to be so different? Or maybe they decided they just wanted it to match my last name. Smith is the most common name in the book, and even that’s fucked up. Where the hell did that Y come from?”

Moore used every ounce of strength he had to hold back a sigh of irritation. She was stalling. Whatever it was she had to say, she was scared to tell him. Scared he’d stamp crazy on her forehead and give her a one-way ticket to Looneytown.

He spoke slowly, making sure no judgement came through in his voice. “Joolie, I know this is your time and your money, but I’d like you to get something out of therapy. If you really just wanted someone to vent to, that’s fine, but I had the feeling that there was a bigger problem you wanted to see me about.”

Her dark-circled eyes glanced at the clock and back at him. He knew what she was thinking. Now or never.

She spoke again and all the cutesy, flirty nonchalance was gone from her tone. “I’ve already tried everything else. My general practitioner, hypnosis, even some freak Chinese herbal guy who stuck needles in my forehead. I looked like that guy from Hellraiser. So, I figure you’re my last chance.” She smirked. “Like Obi-Wan. You’re my only hope.”

He looked her over as she spoke. She was young, twenty-four. With dark hair and eyes and a tall, medium build, she could be his own daughter if he’d ever married. Instead, he’d filled his life with books and food. The pressure of his gut on the snug waist of his pants told him maybe too much food. But everyone had a void to fill. What was hers?

“Go on,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “I’m seeing my ex-boyfriend, Darren. In the grocery store. In the backseat of my car. Outside the window of my apartment.”

“He’s stalking you?”

She snorted. “Yeah, but that’s not the problem.”

“What’s the problem?”

“He’s dead. He’s been dead for months.”

Moore’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly met his receding hairline. “What do you think the explanation is?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to two: either he’s haunting me or I’m crazy. I need you to help me figure out which one it is.”

***

The hour ended, but Dr. Moore couldn’t take his mind off Joolie. She was his last appointment of the evening, and he knew nothing awaited him at his house, so he followed his instinct, hopped into his black BMW and discretely followed her home.

He sunk down in his leather seat as she ascended the wooden steps to her second-floor apartment. He watched her black window fill with an orange glow as she let herself in and turned on the light.

Now what?

He gazed around the small gravel parking lot. Only three other cars sat, dark and unoccupied. Then his eyes continued to the woods behind the lot, trees standing tall and bare, casting shadows like long arms over the ground.

One shadow moved.

He stared unblinking until his eyes adjusted to the light and then the shadow moved again and it was quite clearly a man, leaning against a tree, facing her window. A thin wisp of smoke leaked from the lit end of the cigarette dangling in his hand.

Moore slipped out of his car, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He crept backwards, into the woods, and worked his way behind the man. Then Moore slunk up to him and, surprised by his own bravado, said, “Watching Joolie again?”

The man’s face didn’t move, only his eyes, which glanced quickly at Moore then returned to her window. “Who are you? Her new guy?”

“I’m her doctor. Are you Darren?”

That got him to move. His head jerked to the side and he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stomped it with his boot. “Darren’s dead. I’m his brother, Earl.”

“Twins?”

His forehead creased with confusion. “No.”

“Why are you dressing up like him, trying to make her think you’re Darren?”

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Darren and I look nothing alike.”

That piece didn’t fit nicely into the puzzle Moore was building, but he moved on. “Why are you out here stalking her?”

“I’ve got a score to settle with her.”

Moore knew it. This guy had something against his brother’s girlfriend, maybe an unrequited crush, and wanted to drive her crazy. The only question that remained was why she thought this guy was Darren. If they looked nothing alike, what would cause her to think that?

He posed the question to Earl, who smirked and said, “Guilty conscience, I suppose.” At Moore’s frown, he added, “How well do you know her?”

***

The gold number six dangling on the door to Joolie’s apartment vibrated as Moore pounded on the metal with his fist.

After a flutter of footsteps, she opened the door wide. Before she could ask what he was doing there, he said in feigned panic, “He’s out there.”

Her eyes widened. “You saw him? I’m not crazy?”

He nodded and pretended to catch his breath. “I saw him. I went to touch him and it was like putting my hand in a cloud. He disappeared in front of my eyes.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Just one thing. When I approached him he said, ‘I’m not here for you. Just her.’ Then he vanished.”

Her face crashed down into her trembling hands.

Moore grabbed her shoulders. “Why is he haunting you, Joolie? If you face up to the truth, he’ll stop. That’s all he wants. All he wants is the truth.”

Her head jerked up, her eyes red and small like a cornered animal. “I killed him, that’s why.”

His breath caught in his throat. Earl was right. Her guilty conscience had twisted the sight of Earl into Darren, haunting her as punishment for what she had done.

Her tears dried and her face turned to stone as she realized what she’d said. “You won’t say anything, right? Doctor-patient privilege?”

He could have explained to her about the criminal activity loophole, but Moore just smiled instead. It was unnecessary. The wooden top step creaked behind him as a shadow passed over Joolie’s face.

“I don’t know if Doc will tell,” Earl said, sidling up to Moore. “But I will.”