Page 144 of The Last Session

Moon would say the trauma stemmed from a past life pattern. But at a young age, inthislifetime, we’d faced neglect, betrayal, even abuse. All of us had longed more than anything for connection, affection, hope. In a word: love.

I shifted and couldn’t feel my legs. Desperately, I scrambled for the key chain and clicked it.There.My feet were white and wrinkled, but they were there. I slapped and rubbed them, and slowly they began to tingle, coming back to life. Eventually, I clicked off the light and slipped it back into the cubbyhole, pulling my legs up into my chest. I felt sleepy. I realized I was no longer shivering. No longer hungry either.

I’d been down here for some time. Two days? Three? I knew it should take weeks to starve, but with the cold, the exposure, it would probably be much faster. My body already felt like it was starting to shut down.

I closed my eyes, pushing the hideous thoughts away, and suddenly a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors burst into existence, blinking and shifting. I was being shown something significant, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. I marveled, taking it in.

There was something special about this place—Moon was right. But like the snake, it wasn’t good or evil. Moon was the one who’d imbued it with her own psychic rage. And anger was fine, it was good even, but you couldn’t get stuck there.

Easy for me to say. I’d done the same exact thing. And I hadn’t even realized the rage was there, buried under the surface. My desire to help covering up my desire to harm. The anger turning in on itself, working to destroy me—with the societally approved poison of alcohol, with self-flagellation and shame. I’d told myself I was broken, when I wasn’t, not at all. I might have spent the rest of my life believing these lies.

I heard singing. It sounded like a choir in a Christmas Eve service—one of the very few times I hadn’t minded being in church. I pictured my corpse melting into bones. The music got louder, ringing in my ears.

And then: a light. A tiny speck that grew brighter until I had to close my eyes, pressing my palms against them. Was the waiting over already?

It wasn’t a cliché. This was really what happened when you died.

56

“Hey. It’s all right. You’re okay.” A male voice with an Australian accent, a heavy hand on my shoulder, warm breath on my face.

“Clint?” It was the faux therapist who’d shown up at the hospital: Mikki’s Reddit contact. Former member. Here to save the day?

A ripple of relief, of joy—but I wasn’t yet ready to believe this was happening. I’d had enough vivid dreams in here to know I could be ripped into wakefulness at any time.

“Yes, I’m Clint. Good to see you.” He paused. “That’s Grace, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. “All right. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It took a minute or two, but finally I was able to manage the light from the headlamp strapped to his forehead. I had to force myself to pay attention as he handed me a respirator and showed me how to grab onto him with my arms and legs. He explained something about pulling us via small handholds in the tunnel while also being pulled by a rope attached to his harness, but the sound of his voice was like a barrage after the silence of the past few days, and I could barely process it.

“Just keep your eyes closed,” he instructed.

And then the respirator was over my mouth, and we were entering the tunnel. It was slow going; we were basically trying to push our way up a waterfall. Clint’s wet-suited body moved and shifted below my chest. I couldn’t feel my legs, but I was determined to keep them clamped around his hips. I shoved my respirated face against his neck, sure the equipment was going to fly off my head at any second, that the air would be replaced by cold water. I squeezed my eyes tight, my mind blank, not yet ready to accept that this was really happening.

After what felt like hours, but must’ve been only minutes, the tunnel ended and we broke through the surface. Hands pulled us out, unlatched us, and set us down. On my back, I let my jaw relax and myeyes open. The vastness of the cave stretched above me. I’d never physically felt this much open space.

“Okay, let’s get her out of these.” Karen was above me, unzipping my sweatshirt. I’d left my damp coat behind. I realized I’d also left the key chain flashlight in its little cubby and felt a small, inexplicable stab of loss.

“Oh my god.” Mikki crouched above me, eyes wide. “Thea. Holy shit.”

“Let’s hurry.” Karen pulled at me to sit up and lifted my shirt over my head. “Clint, you ready for round two? How is she?”

“I’m sorry, Karen.” He was pulling off his harness. “She didn’t make it.”

Karen continued to stare at him, perplexed.

“You mean…” Mikki trailed off. “Grace—”

“Listen, our first order of business is to get Thea to a hospital.” Clint straightened. “We call SOS as soon as we get upstairs. Karen, I’m sorry, we’ll have to recover her body later.”

Karen nodded, her expression fixed, but tears flowed down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” My voice sounded scratchy and gruff. I wanted to tell her it had happened quickly, but after the deprivation tank–like time in the cave, all of this—the harsh yet soft words, the two women taking off my clothes and putting dry ones on, the light of the lanterns—felt completely overwhelming.

Mikki was also stoically crying, wiping away tears as she worked sweatpants onto my legs. Karen slipped wool socks over my feet, which were tingling and coming back to life.Ahh.Nothing had ever felt so good. The warmth was sensuous, luxurious. Mikki fitted a knit cap over my head. I wanted to thank them but suddenly had to vomit. Nothing but bile came out.

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