Dr. Francesca Stein poured water into a glass and stared through the observation window at a patient alone in the therapy room. Her name was Jillian Clark. She was fourteen years old. She had long nut-brown hair, freckles, and a sweet smile. Her body had the gangly awkwardness of a growing teenager, but she could run like the wind on the soccer field. Jillian got straight As in school. She wanted to be an eye doctor, because her mother was an eye doctor, and Jillian idolized her mother.

Jillian lay on a white chaise in the middle of the therapy room. When Frankie pushed the intercom button, she could hear piano music playing softly inside. Jillian’s eyes were open, but she was already under hypnosis. The curved wall in front of her served as a movie screen, playing a slow-motion track of flowers and plants growing. Typically, Frankie used a video of ocean waves to relax her patients—but not for Jillian.

Water was Jillian’s problem.

When Frankie first met the girl a month earlier, they’d chatted in Frankie’s office, which adjoined the therapy room. They talked about boys. School. Music. The ordinary parts of a teenager’s life.

And then, with a glance at Jillian’s mother, Frankie poured a glass of water.

The reaction was even worse than she expected.

Jillian gasped for air. A choking noise belched from her open mouth, and redness rose in her face. Her chest seized. The episode continued until Frankie poured the water out in the sink, and once the water was gone, Jillian became her typical young self almost immediately. She laughed and joked about Taylor Swift. She talked about her last vacation with her parents to Disneyland. Neither her mind nor her body showed ill effects of the trauma.

It was the most extreme case of aquaphobia that Frankie had ever seen.

“Three months ago, I took Jillian kayaking in the bay near the San Mateo Bridge,” her mother had explained. “We ran into unstable currents, and her kayak flipped. She couldn’t right herself. I paddled like crazy to get to her, but it was nearly a minute before I could reach her and get her out of the water. She nearly died. The doctors said there was no physiological damage, but a few days later, I noticed that—well, I noticed that Jillian was starting to smell. And I realized she hadn’t showered since that trip to the bay.”

“I can’t stand to have water touching me,” Jillian added. “As soon as I get wet, I’m back there under the bay. The whole thing comes to life for me again. It’s not just that I remember it. I’m there.”

“Since then, it’s gotten worse,” her mother went on. “The very sight of water can trigger an episode. We’ve gone to doctors and therapists, and no one has been able to help. We’re desperate, Dr. Stein.”