Page 92 of The Last Session

“Why not tell your parents? They were really freaked out.”

“My dad is super controlling.” She shook her head. “If I’d told him where I was going, he would’ve come here and taken me back by force.”

“You’re an adult. No one can force you—”

“You don’t know my dad.” Her face went vacant and she stared past my shoulder.

I decided to drop it.

“What about that guy Clint?” I asked. “The one who said he was your therapist? He lived here, too, right?”

“He’s a former member.” Catherine nodded. “He also lives in New York now. He must’ve come when he heard I was in the hospital.”

“He seemed—concerned.”

“He cares about me. He wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“Did you get in touch with him?”

“No. He would’ve tried to convince me not to come back.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Things don’t always end well with people here. It happens.”

“But when I tried calling, his number was out of service.”

“I don’t know, Thea. I’m sorry.” She looked down.

I felt a whisper of disquiet. She had an answer for almost everything, and yet I was sure she was lying. She didn’t even seem all that surprised to see me.

“Why have you been hiding this whole time?” I asked.

Her eyes retrained on me. “I wasn’t hiding. I was meditating.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been trying to get better.” She smiled wanly.

“Here?” I gestured. “Catherine, you just had a psychotic break. Moon and Sol aren’t licensed. I doubt they have any type of training whatsoever. This is not the best place for you.”

Her eyes grew red and glassy. “It is, though. This is where I’m supposed to be.”

“A place where there’s a weird, bloody altar to you in a cave?” I leaned forward. “Is that part of the healing process too?”

“You don’t understand.” She lifted the bottom of her T-shirt to her eyes. “There’s a process in place. You don’t get it because you’re not part of this community.”

She smiled widely, still mechanically wiping at her tears. The discordance was jarring.

“Do you know what happened before you had the break?” I asked softly.

“Oh, you know.” She attempted a laugh. “The work here is intense.” She let her shirt fall. She was back in control. “You’ve been here—what, two days? Imagine being here for years. You go so much deeper. And it’s incredible, it really is. But sometimes it’s too much. I wasn’t strong enough, and it cracked me open. But it’s okay.” She folded her hands. “I’m better now. And I’m feeling stronger every day.”

“How did you end up on the expressway in New York?” I kept my voice neutral.

“Oh.” She stared down at the table. “I… I don’t know. Someone must’ve taken me to New York. It’s all… fuzzy. I don’t know what happened.”

For some reason, I believed her.