Page 41 of The Last Session

“Sure.” We headed to the double glass doors, held by the rounded edges of the adobe walls. They were covered in large black lettering:CENTER FOR RELATIONAL HEALING.WELCOME HOME.

Inside, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The walls of the entryway and lobby were similarly covered in mosaics, though they were partially hidden by couches and paintings. Antiques covered every surface—a stack of old books here, a stuffed owl on that cabinet there. For some reason it felt vaguely postapocalyptic, like a group of survivors had moved into an art exhibit, dragging in anything they could find.

“All right!” Grace bounded behind a check-in desk. It was scattered with papers, pens, paper clips, markers, and a beat-up paperback of bell hooks’sAll About Love. Grace pulled out three folders and handed them to us. Peeking inside, I saw a map and a printed-out Word doc.

“Self-reflection packet.” Grace pulled a pack of gum from her tote bag. “And map.”

“Map?” Mikki echoed. “How big is this place?”

“You’ll get the hang of it fast. But sometimes when people first come here, they feel…” She waved her hands. “Disoriented.”

Karen looked around. “Itisa little busy.”

“We’re maximalists.” Grace shrugged. “A lot of our members are artists. But everything has its place.”

“No cell service?” Mikki held up her phone.

“Nope. We have Wi-Fi, though.” Grace snapped her fingers. “Wejustchanged the password, so let me get back to you on that. Also…” She pulled a stack of papers from under the desk. “One thing to sign.”

“Nondisclosure agreement,” Karen read.

I scanned the many-paragraphed packet.Both parties agree to keep confidential training materials, attendees’ stories, and other proprietary information (“Confidential Information”).

“Yup.” Grace snapped her gum. “We get really personal here, even on just weekend retreats.” She glanced at me. “Thea, you’re a therapist. You get it.”

I felt taken slightly aback that she knew my profession. I’d written in the sign-up form that I was a therapist, figuring “social worker” might be suspicious, but I wouldn’t have expected Grace to have read it. Maybe she had more power here than I’d assumed?

“I get it.” I forced myself to smile, wondering exactly how binding this was. I knew that cults often used legal action to punish people. If I found out information about Catherine and shared it, would they come after me?

Mikki and Karen were signing the packet; I clicked my pen and scribbled something that looked nothing like my signature. Maybe that would protect me.

“Thanks.” Grace took the forms back. “Ready for the tour?”

“Yeah!” Karen cried, causing us all to crack up.

“Good! Leave your bags here, we’ll help get them to your rooms.” Grace marched through a door, and we followed. An energy crackled in the air, and whether it was the stunning reality of this place, or the zinging possibility of getting closer to finding Catherine, I breathed it deep into my chest.

The hall, filled with framed photographs, opened up into a courtyard filled with plants, sculptures, and a large, burbling fountain. Enormous,spiky aloes reached up to my chest level, and several cacti in the corners towered over us. I slowed to take a closer look at the sculptures: two life-sized heads peeking out from underneath the plants. The effect was unsettling, like they were people who’d been buried up to their necks. One looked like an older woman, another like a boy or teen. Both had dark holes where their eyes should’ve been. Even more creepy.

But there was so much else to take in: oil paintings propped on side tables, a row of closed doors, and a mosaicked staircase curving up to the second story. It was at least twelve feet above us, with a wraparound landing.

Someone was watching me.

I paused. Grace, Karen, and Mikki were up ahead, their voices melding with the gurgles of the fountain. I turned and scanned. No one was here, but my eyes landed on a door to the right. While the other doors were mosaicked, blending into the walls, this one was a wooden door painted purple. There was a small window towards the top of it, covered by a lace curtain. Was someone watching from inside?

“Coming?” Grace called from the edge of the courtyard.

“Yes!” I pulled my gaze away and hurried over.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah! I’ve just never seen a place like this before. It’s… a work of art.”

“It is.” She seemed pleased by my choice of words. “You should’ve seen it before.” She motioned us into the next hallway and pointed to a framed black-and-white photograph. It showed what looked like a half-built mansion, flanked by the surrounding hills and mountains.

“This is the old resort?” Mikki leaned in to study it.

“Yep. They were able to use some of the old structure, but most of it’s new.”

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