She visibly deflates with relief. He gets it. She'd been so afraid he'd be another in a long line of people who just didn't, who couldn't. "That's it exactly," she agrees, her voice soft. "I've been so afraid that it's gotten to the point where I'm paralyzed by it. And where it's causing me problems, I guess. I'm hiding things instead of trying to deal with them."

She pauses, considering. "I... I think it's easier if I just show you." There's an inward spike of anxiety as she opens her bag and pulls out a flashlight. Rachel scoots closer to Charles' desk, leaning into it.

"Okay, so... watch my hand, and its shadow," she tells him. There's a pen resting on his desk, closer to her than to him. She holds her left hand about a foot above the desk, to one side of where the pen rests. She turns on the flashlight, and shines it on the back of that splayed hand, so it casts a shadow onto the desk's surface.

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Her face is a mask of concentration, all her attention focused on her hand. For about thirty seconds or so, nothing at all happens.

And then, even though her hand remains still, its shadow flickers, and then slides across his desk top. It moves over the pen, ethereal fingers pressing down on it and dragging it back toward her hand.