Chapter 20
20
“How’s everyone today?” Grace threw over her shoulder as she hurried us into a parking lot. She was tan, although white lines crisscrossed her upper back. She wore a tight camisole and baggy green pants. With her freckles and wide smile, she looked like a friendly and popular girl you might see at a liberal arts college.
“Great!” Karen cried.
“Awesome. What’s everyone’s name?” As we introduced ourselves, she led us towards a shiny white SUV. The license plate said LAND OF ENCHANTMENT , which I somehow recognized as the state motto. The sun landed on my neck like a warm hand, and I held my face up to the light. God, it felt nice here.
Grace opened the side door but tapped obliviously at her phone while Karen struggled to heft her bag inside. I rushed forward to help.
“Thanks, hon.” She climbed in carefully. Mikki hauled her bag in after.
“You want to sit up front?” Grace asked.
“Sure.” I sank into the leather seat, inhaling the too-sweet vanilla air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. Grace turned the car on and pop music blasted. She turned it down and pulled out.
“So you and Mikki flew in from New York, right?” She slipped on a pair of aviators. I was momentarily distracted by the landscape—even as we drove by big-box stores, those mountains beyond planted us firmly in a new land. And that sky! The blue was so vivid it glowed.
“Yup.” I turned to her. “The weather here’s way better. What is it—seventies?”
“Yeah, it’s been warm this week.” Grace chuckled. “Spring is nice, but it gets cold at night.” She drummed her fingers on the wheel; the silver nail polish had mostly flaked off.
“How long have you been at the Center?” Might as well start to dig now. We passed a bench with a sign on the back: WANNA GET TO KNOW GOD BETTER ?
“It’s been a while.” She drove surprisingly aggressively, cutting off a car that didn’t even honk. “A couple years.”
That was vague. “How did you come to work there? Did you know—Moon and Sol?” My tongue faltered over the names, which felt slightly ridiculous to say out loud.
“Nope, I came for a retreat, just like you.” She grinned. “And I never left.”
Well, that was cult-y. “That’s great.”
“Trust me.” She shook her head. “You’re not going to want to leave either.”
Mikki leaned forward. “What are you guys talking about?” Beside her, Karen was scrolling on her phone.
“Just how incredible the Center is.” Grace beamed back at Mikki a few seconds too long for my comfort. I clutched the sides of my seat, and she finally turned to the road. “First time for both of you—all of you—right?”
“Right.” Mikki tucked back a loc that had slipped in front of her face. “Is it just women coming?”
“Oh no.” Grace shook her head. “We have two guys. They flew in this morning.”
“How many altogether?” Mikki asked.
“There are…” She squinted. “Six.”
“That’s the usual number?”
“Well, sometimes it’s a little higher. But usually we keep it small. So there’s a lot of personal attention, you know?”
We crossed a street called Gun Club Road, then passed a building with a cracked sign: HEALING HERB DISPENSARY . We were on the outskirts now, and on our left was what looked like a junkyard.
“Where are you from?” I asked Grace.
“Santa Fe. Not too far away.” She flew through a light that had just turned red.
“You heard about it… how, through the podcast?” I asked.
“Oh no. This was before the podcast.” Grace glanced at me. “Everyone heard about it when they started building. It’s the largest mosaicked structure in the world. Wait till we get there.” She grinned. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like it.”
Outside of Albuquerque, we entered the desert: flat and then rolling golden hills dotted with shrubs and sprouts of grass. Beyond, majestic mesas rose up from the dirt, some of them dotted with metal crosses. On the horizon were those ubiquitous mountains. The landscape was beautiful, otherworldly, seemingly filtered through a washed-out seventies color scheme.
“Wow,” I said during a lull in Grace’s easy chatter. “There’s so much empty land. It’s just… the opposite of New York.”
We’d been driving more than an hour with little to break up the landscape. I hadn’t even seen a gas station. Good thing I’d peed on the plane.
“Yeah, I love living down here.” Grace nodded. “My brain felt so cluttered when I was in a city. It’s great to have space, you know? And there are some cool places we can drive to.” She started telling us about a town called Truth or Consequences, which had renamed itself to win a radio contest in the fifties.
Eventually, we turned onto a gravel road. Here the land rolled gently, and far off something winked in the sun.
“Is that it?” I pointed. “The Center?”
Grace smiled. “You’ll see.”
“This is, like, the driveway?” Mikki asked. “How long is it?”
“Oh, about three miles.”
“Damn.” Mikki gazed ahead. “You guys are isolated.”
“Just the way we like it.” Grace chuckled.
The closer we got, the less real our destination became. It was like a mirage: the sparkling, jewel-toned castle of a kids’ show. I’d seen photos, but they hadn’t done the place justice. The building was an enormous adobe structure at least five or six stories high, with turrets and small balconies and one especially tall tower thrusting towards the sky. All surfaces were covered with mosaics: glittering pieces of glass and mirror and ceramics. It was too bright to look at without squinting, even with my sunglasses. I glanced back; Karen’s jaw hung open in awe.
“Nice, huh?” Grace sounded smug. The closer we got, the more intricate the mosaics became. There were numerous patterns and pictures in the walls, mostly from nature: animals, flowers, plants, ocean waves. Ranging from small—some were too delicate to make out from this distance—to enormous, like an imposing elk that was at least twenty feet tall.
“It’s amazing.” I meant it, and Grace gave a satisfied nod. There was one other car—a red sedan—parked in front of the building, on an unceremonious patch of dirt outside the double doors.
I wondered for a moment if Moon and Sol would be waiting for us, parental and waving. But no one emerged from the miraculous kaleidoscopic chateau.
“Welcome to the castle,” Grace cried as she stopped the car with a jolt. She cranked open the door and hopped out, kicking up dust. “That’s what we like to call it.”
“It’s really something.” Karen shook her head.
“What was that place in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood ?” Mikki stepped onto the dusty ground. “The Neighborhood of Make-Believe?”
“I was just thinking it looked like something out of a kids’ show.” I slammed the door shut.
Mikki pulled her large suitcase to the ground. Grace was already at the doors. “Let’s see if the inside is just as nutty.”
Karen had paused, and I held out a hand.
“Thanks, hon.” She carefully stepped down. “Sometimes flying makes my knee act up.”
“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’s All 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. “It is a 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. “We just changed 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.”
“It must’ve cost a fortune,” Mikki said.
“Oh!” Grace paused. “Let’s stop here. These are the bathrooms.” She waved us through an open doorway, and we filed into a yellow-tiled space. The color reminded me of a middle school locker room. There was a row of aluminum bathroom stalls and a row of sinks.
“The bathrooms are… communal?” Karen looked bemused.
“They are!” Grace nodded enthusiastically. “We don’t break things down by gender. The showers are through here.” She led us through another doorway. Showerheads dotted one of the walls. At the end of the room, a lone set of curtains surrounded one showerhead.
“For those who want privacy.” Grace gestured.
Mikki and Karen nodded, seemingly unfazed, but I couldn’t help but feel a pinch of discomfort. I hadn’t showered in front of other people since gym class decades ago. That had been bad enough. If I used the “privacy” shower, would everyone else judge me?
“Where do Moon and Sol record the podcasts?” Mikki asked as we continued down the hall.
“Oh, they do that in a studio in Las Cruces.”
“Is that far?”
“Everything’s pretty far around here.” Grace led us out a back door. “Okay, here’s one of my favorite places. The pool!”
“Now we’re talking,” Karen cried. Mikki grinned as she slipped on her round sunglasses.
The pool area was gorgeous—lush and colorful, like the background of a funky Vogue magazine spread. The kidney-shaped pool itself was patterned with mosaics, which were all sea-themed: tropical fish, seahorses, anemones, even a large octopus with far-reaching tentacles. The deck was covered with golden-toned mosaics, like a sandy beach lining the water. Palms and ferns dotted the periphery, interspaced with cacti. A beige canopy stretched over half the pool, providing shade. Lounge chairs of all shapes and sizes littered the deck; they’d clearly been brought here piecemeal, but they added to the quirky charm.
And there, in the shaded area, several people lounged. They sat up to greet us, and I recognized him immediately.
This time he was in a T-shirt and shorts instead of that puffy black coat, but his mussed curly hair, broad shoulders, and lazy grin were all on full display.
It was Jonah the PI.