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mistaken—” the buzzer for the door sounded “—that’s them now. Stay here with Kevin, I’ll go let them in.”
    Kevin smiled. “I hope you didn’t mind me calling you at home. Mr. Art gave me the number.”
    She nodded. “I assumed.” Assumed he’d taken it from her hospital file, the creep. “It’s okay, Kevin.”
    â€œI won’t do it again,” he said, twisting his hands at waist level. “I promise.”
    â€œKevin, don’t worry,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
    â€œMuch better,” he said, “now that Mr. Art isn’t—” Raised voices sounded in the hallways, a woman’s footsteps echoing beneath them.
    â€œIsn’t what, Kevin?” Megan leaned forward. “Now that Mr. Art isn’t what?”
    But Kevin only shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
    The rest of the Fearbusters group entered the room, moving together but oddly apart. They talked to each other, even smiled, but what Megan felt in the air was disconnection. These people were terribly wrapped up in themselves, huddling into their bodies like threatened mollusks pulling into their shells. They didn’t relate to each other at all.
    Perhaps she’d judged Art too harshly. Maybe with a group like this the best thing to do was get them together on the floor and try to make them touch each other, pull each other out of themselves.
    She’d have to see.
    One by one, they introduced themselves, with varying degrees of welcome and suspicion. There was Bob, a glowering giant of a man who must have been at least six and a half feet tall, with thick black hair cut in a military buzz. Hanna gazed at Megan from under long light-brown bangs and through owlish pink glasses. Her entire body was encased in shades of drab, topped with a dress thatlooked like something a Laura Ingalls Wilder character had discarded.
    Joe, chubby and smiling, radiated a nervousness Megan felt even with her shields up. Last was Grant, barely out of his teens, with dyed black hair, a pierced eyebrow, and black-enameled fingernails.
    Art closed the door behind them and turned off the overhead lights. Megan hadn’t noticed the candles earlier, but they glowed on the windowsills and tables by the walls, giving the room a low, intimate ambience. Some of the clients’ tensions eased as they settled themselves onto the mats, but to Megan the whole set-up felt more like a séance than therapy.
    â€œOkay,” Art said, clasping his hands and sitting in the chair on the other side of the mats. “You’ve all introduced yourselves to Dr. Megan Chase.” He nodded across their heads indicating Megan. “Megan has her own practice for individual counseling, but she’s accepted my offer to come and help us out at Fearbusters.”
    â€œI didn’t—” Megan started, but stopped. These people were paying for a session. She wouldn’t waste their time arguing with Art.
    â€œNow, yesterday we discussed some of the feelings we get before we’re afraid, right?” Art’s voice lowered. “What we see or hear right before we notice the fear.”
    The group murmured assent. Kevin’s hands were clenched tight.
    â€œLet’s talk about that,” Art said. “Hanna, what do you see, hear or feel before you notice you’re afraid?”
    Hanna’s voice wavered. “I hear a voice. It whispers in my ear. It tells me something bad is going to happen.”
    â€œDoesn’t it only feel like it’s whispering in your ear?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s just a voice in your head, Hanna.”
    â€œNo!”
    Megan leaned forward, trying to understand why Art was arguing with the poor girl and why she was fighting back. “It’s a whisper in my ear. Sometimes I feel its breath.”
    â€œI hear them, too,” Grant said. “Just like