Camp Damascus(48)

A flash of memories from my days in the congregation washes over me, recalling all the parties that felt wild and free despite existing tight under our parents’ thumbs. It seemed very wholesome at the time, but remembering those people now makes me nauseated.

“Not anymore,” I reply, shaking my head before stopping abruptly. “Actually, do you have root beer?”

Saul laughs. “Yeah,” he admits.

“I’d like one, please,” I say, prompting my host to head off into the kitchen.

As Saul clatters around in his fridge I take in my surroundings, my eyes working their way curiously across the dining room of the ancient farmhouse. This place was built to house a large family, but the windows have grown dusty with neglect and the peeling wallpaper is well past the point of salvaging. It’s nothing but a skeleton now.

Saul returns with an ice-cold bottle of root beer, freshly uncapped and fizzing gently.

My host sets the beverage in front of me then returns to his seat across the table, flopping down casually. He still can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face, basking in the presence of his old friend.

“How much do you remember about Camp Damascus?” I ask.

Saul considers this, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip from his glass. I continue observing him during this quiet moment, making note of the little details I hadn’t noticed from afar.

For one, Saul is absolutely covered in tattoos, the dark and intricate markings running down his arms and up his neck. His nose is pierced with a single ring on the right side, but his ears are chock-full of glinting silver and gold bars. The man’s black T-shirt features a band’s logo so distorted by violent spikes and spires it has become unreadable, and below this is a graphic depiction of vile, gore-soaked carnage.

I can’t imagine seeking out the friendship of someone like this with my earlier mindset, yet here we are.

“I remember a lot,” Saul finally replies, “but it’s hard to tell what’s missing, you know? Seems like every day I catch a glimpse of something new.”

I nod, understanding precisely what he means. I’m on a quest to gather information and fill in the blanks of my memories, but it’s frustrating to have no idea how large a hole I’m patching. It’s like struggling to construct a puzzle without understanding the edge that borders it. The picture could be ten pieces wide, or ten thousand.

“I remember you,” Saul continues, cracking a smile. “You’ve changed.”

I laugh instinctively, then hesitate. “What do you mean?”

Saul considers his words carefully. “When’s the last time you took a shower?” he finally asks.

In my previous world of youthful drama and high school politics, I might’ve been offended by this, or at least gone through the motions and pretended to be. Now, I just take his question at face value.

I take a lock of my own hair and hold it before my face, inspecting the ratty blond tangles. “I slept in my car last night,” I admit. “We were friends?”

“Yeah, we were friends,” Saul offers, then hesitates slightly. “I was your counselor.”

This revelation hangs in the air between us, settling as we sip our drinks. I briefly consider anger, but the feeling passes quickly. Saul is tethered to a demon, just like I am.

“I didn’t know,” he assures me, an emotional weight in his gaze that’s difficult to fake.

“Okay” is all I can think to say.

We’re both giving this our best shot, but it appears brief mental flashes of some previous relationship aren’t quite enough to cut through the awkwardness of strangers reuniting.

Suddenly, I tense up as a cold gust of air washes across my body, reacting to the stimulus in exactly the way I’ve been trained.

Pachid.

Something’s not right, a break in the pattern. I erupt in a flurry of calculations, desperately wondering how this could happen while my mind remains free from impure thoughts.

“You good?” Saul asks, noting the concerned look on my face as my eyes dart across the room.

Eventually, my gaze finds its way to a gaping hole in one of the dining room windows, the glass corner broken just enough to let in a chilly gust of air.

“I’m okay,” I reply.

Saul looks skeptical.

“What about you?” he continues. “What do you remember?”

“I remember the ceremony,” I state. “That’s about it.”

Saul’s eyes widen. “You remember the tethering ceremony?” he repeats, shaking his head. “I’m glad that’s one of the few parts that hasn’t come back to me yet. Hopefully it never will.”

“Yeah” is all I can offer.

Saul nods, his expression changing slightly as a heartbreaking realization washes over him.

“Listen,” he finally blurts, leaning forward. “I know why you’re here, because I did the same thing for way too long. You’ve gotta drop it and move on.”

I laugh. “There’s nowhere left to move on to.”

I can tell this simple response cuts my host deep, chilling him to the core. He seems viscerally unsettled by my words, thrown off course a moment before pulling himself together.

“I’m serious,” he finally continues. “When I started remembering things I wanted nothing but justice. I read everything I could find on Kingdom of the Pine, just devoured the literature. I looked up old biblical texts. I even broke into three churches hunting for documents.”