Page 133 of The Last Session

Behind her, Catherine stood. Her eyes were dilated, barely any green showing. “I love you, Thea.” Her words were slurred. “I’m sorry. I love you.” She hugged me.

Steven remained where he was sitting, head low.

“All right.” Moon nodded firmly at Jonah and Sol. I shrieked as they lifted me over the swirling, sucking water. There had to be a way to stop myself from going into the tunnel—maybe by bracing my legs or arms.

Focus. Strong legs. Strong arms.

But the hole was too large, too slippery. Too hungry.

When they let me go, I dropped into the mouth and it swallowed me whole.

Catherine

“Catherine?” Moon smiles at me sweetly. “You want to go for a hike?”

It’s too hot for a hike. It’s just past noon and the sun is blazing in the sky. But you don’t say no to Moon.

“Sure.” I get up from my bed, where I’ve been meditating. It should be nice to see someone—I’ve been kept in here for the past four days—but the planes and angles of Moon’s heart-shaped face fill me with a thick, syrupy fear.

I quickly grab sunglasses and sunscreen and race to follow her; she’s already heading down the steps to the courtyard. I get a whiff of her rose perfume oil and something deep in my gut twists. Sometimes I think about those early days, back when the castle was just a skeletal structure stretching towards the unending blue sky. Back when we slept in two campers and made cowboy coffee over the firepit and didn’t have any agenda aside from our healing sessions. Sure, the radio would spit out news about the rising death toll, how bodies were being stacked in refrigerated vans because the morgues were so full. But I was happy. Everyone was surprised, especially David—now going by “Sol”—since I’d admitted I’d never gone camping before.

“Just the two of us?” I ask as she walks straight out to the SUV.

“Just the two of us.” She hops in. She’s using the Mexican accent full-time now, has since they started the podcast, but it still sounds strange to me. Apparently, she could use it easily after spending so much time there doing yoga trainings. When I made the mistake of questioning it—Moon grew up in West Virginia, the daughter of two white parents—she patiently explained that she felt more at home in Sayulita than she ever had in the US. That her body might be American, but her soul and ancestors were from there. Later on, Sol cornered me and calledme paranoid and cynical for “interrogating” her. My probing revealed my maladaptive thought patterns and how much work I still have to do.

Did Moon bring water along for this hike? I hope so, but know I can’t ask. She sings along to the satellite radio, and I try to relax. She’s not the best driver, but luckily there are very few cars this far out. The diamond sparkles at her throat—same as mine. I got it for her back in LA, brought it to that first Christmas party at Moon’s apartment where I met David/Sol, her boyfriend. At that point she and I were already doing healing work together, usually after yoga classes in one of the treatment rooms. The hours of talking and hands-on Reiki would pass in what felt like minutes. And after, I’d actually feel better. The guilt over Sebastian’s death—the fact that I hadn’t been there for him, hadn’t even known he was struggling—would feel lighter. Moon had known deep loss too; her older brother and several friends had gotten hooked on opioids in the late nineties. He’d died when she was sixteen, and her mother had never recovered.

Moon’s intuitive abilities helped her get to my deepest, darkest places. It took only a few weeks for me to tell her about my father, the inappropriate way he’d treated me as soon as I turned twelve. No wonder I’d never had an orgasm. No wonder sex had never felt particularly pleasurable for me, and that I needed substances to bear it. Before this, Sebastian—my PR boyfriend, secretly gay—was the only person I’d ever told about the abuse.

“How are you feeling?” Moon glances over at me.

I’m still feeling sick, but I can’t tell her. She calls illness a parasitic method of seeking attention.

“I’m great.” I force a grin.

“Good.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’ve been worried about you, Cath.”

Really? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been banished to my room so she doesn’t have to think about me. Ever since Talia arrived, she’s been focused solely on her. They even talked about getting matching tattoos. I touch the one Moon and I share on my chest.

“You don’t have to worry,” I say woodenly.

“I feel like we hit a wall.” Moon drums her fingers on the wheel. “With the past life sessions. We need something to jump-start us.”

For a while the sessions were lasting all day, into the night. I’m the only one who can properly channel, but the moment that Moon wants me to see—when I’m near-dead in the desert—I can’t. My eyes were closed back then. I just hear my sister talking to someone with a low, deep voice. It gives one of us the opportunity to sacrifice ourselves in a future life. But then the vision fades. Maybe I died at that point.

“I’m sorry.” It’s usually better just to apologize.

“Don’t be sorry! I know you’re doing your best. But we just need toknow, Cath. If we know, then we can figure out what to do.”

For the thousandth time, I curse myself for having picked up the white, black-lined shards in the cave.I found something!Painted ceramic pieces from the long-lost Mimbres people, according to Steven, who told me it was almost common to find them in the area. They would smash their pottery and leave it behind when moving on to a new area. How was I to know that the pieces I found would set Moon on this obsessive path?

I’m not sure she knows where she’s driving. But eventually she makes an abrupt turn onto a side road, then cruises until we hit a small parking lot.

“Okay.” She gets out of the car without a backpack, without anything. Definitely no water. I swallow; my throat is already dry. But I just have to deal with it.

She passes the wooden trail map stand without looking. I hurry to keep up; she’s tiny but moves so fast. I quietly spread sunscreen on my arms, hoping she won’t turn around and castigate me. She thinks all lotions are filled with deadly chemicals, but Karen has been secretly bringing me sunscreen from town for my pale skin. We walk over some hills, the trail so thin I follow a few feet behind her. Her calves are strong and tan. There’s no shade, of course, and even with sunglasses I have to squint.

For some reason I can’t stop thinking about the cave. Moon has been spending most of her time down there, communing with some energy she claims to feel. A few days ago she called it a portal, and the word made my stomach cramp. I hate being down there. It makes me feel trapped, even more so than when I’m confined to my room.

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